The Ears of the Elves
by Asso
Summary: Have you ever paid attention to the shape of the ears of the Elves? T'Pol did.
1. The Ears of the Elves - Chapter One

**The Ears of the Elves**

 **By Asso**

 **Chapter One**

* * *

 _I ask amends, my friends._

 _I know, I know very well that a lot of slop bubbles in the pots of my kitchen._

 _"The Empire's Destiny", "In the Hall of the Mountain King", "Similitudes", "Ineluctable"._

 _I would do well to continue with these stories, especially with those that are waiting longest._

 _Oh I'll do it, my friends. I swear. I will do it._

 _But ... please ... try to understand me._

 _An imperious order echoed in my mind. "WRITE THIS!" And I had to obey._

 _Please, my friends, forgive your poor Asso._

 _And, above all, try to read this story. It seems to me rather intriguing._

 _Only, a little advice. Of course, you can also read this story without knowing "In the Hall of The Mountain King" (which, moreover, is work in progress). However, much of what is present in this story finds its reason for being in that other, in "In the Hall of the Mountain King."_

 _Your devoted servant Asso prays you to keep that in mind._

* * *

 **The Ears of the Elves**

 **Chapter One**

* * *

How beautiful was the sun, which was going down, over there, behind the hills carpeted with green.

How lukewarm was the air, and mild, and fragrant, in the quiet sweetness of eventide.

And what a melancholy, those empty battlements.

And those crenellated towers, deserted and abandoned.

In ruin.

The Princess shook her head, making flutter her beautiful jet-black mane, partially collected on her prideful head, and the long gilded earrings dangling from the lobes of her delicate ears, protruding with their thin and long tips from among the soft and convoluted spirals of her long hair, drooping on either side of her visage, sweet and beautiful and proud, and on her well shapely bare shoulders.

She sighed.

She shook her head again.

She straightened up, watching, from above the tumbledown crenellation of the bastion from which she was looking out, the distant sun, which, little by little, was surrendering to the night.

The night.

The end of the day.

The end of the light.

The darkness.

* * *

"Ashayam."

Trip shook himself from his blissful lounging on the couch. Hum. It had lasted for too long. His ineffable sweet half had stopped reading and had turned toward him and now was recalling back him to duty.

And for some reason, obscure, maybe, but after all not too much in the light of the messes, to want to be moderate, they had just passed through, he did not like much the actual kind of duty he sensed he had to perform.

Damn! But why the hell had she buried herself in the study of the myths and legends of Humans? And so determinedly? Oh well, this last was a foolish question, obviously. And in what other way could she behave? This was exactly the way own of her in whatever she did. Just as at that moment, because he knew well that that recall on her part implied some kind of explanation she would require him to provide her with, in regard with her new mania.

She was fascinated by the dark myths that surrounded the past of Earth and also of Vulcan.

But above of Earth.

Holy cow! Was it not enough what they had had to endure with that damn King?

Of course, she had a very logical explanation. There was to doubt about that? She said that the experience - okay, let's say so! - through which they had been forced to pass had awakened her dormant but still present scientific interest about the myths and, moreover and above all, that she... - but fancy that! - ...that she did not want them two to be caught unprepared if any of those obscure legends had decided to beat down on them, revealing itself to be anything but a mere legend.

The ordeal they had had to bear with the Bannerdas and with the King, she said, had to be a teaching to them.

Okay. Agreed.

But he, to be honest, didn't share her interest about myths and legends, not to say the enthusiasm, a little suspect in truth, she showed to nurture for them and he was not so sure that things were exactly as she said.

Oh, mind you! She never lied. Almost never. But... well, she undeniably had a certain propensity and an incontrovertible mastery in presenting things to the others... and to herself… in a certain way, in the way, that is, most logical, which meant subtly convincing and, let's face it, subtly... manipulative.

And it was invariably him to have to pay the expenses! Even before than her! And - do we want to say it? - more and worse than her.

Oh sure, she too, definitely. She too always ended up invariably into trouble, trouble - well, yes, and she herself admitted it, although with gritted teeth - from which, sooner or later, and not without some... difficulty, it was up to him to pull out both.

She said he was a magnet for the troubles, but - come on! - she was the mirror of what it was him, that's to say that the troubles were a magnet for her. And, in addition, she, wanting to talk with moderation, tried her best to come within range of this magnet, not to say that she had the goddamned vice to dive headlong into hot water.

Oh yeah, wanting to give a closer look, the girl was damn similar to him.

Trip had to smile.

The two of them were really made for each other.

The fact remained, though. At least, he didn't go doggedly in search for troubles; it was the troubles which constantly put themselves in hunt for him!

For her, it wasn't precisely so. She was... an active part in the search for troubles!

Some proof? Well, was she or wasn't she, by chance, the one who had insisted to accompany him on the damn world where they had found the King? Oh, with all the best and most logical reasons in the universe, nothing to say, and undeniably pushed by the love she had for him and by her concern for him, nothing to say even on this. But, in the end, you could not really say that her course of action, so logically and obstinately pursued, had proved to be exactly the best.

This fact, eh yeah, this fact... she did not put it among the teachings that the two of them, and most importantly she, just she - let's admit even this, come on - were supposed to draw from that damn affair.

Well... - He took a slight breath - … okay. All true. However… well, however, frankly, his were only silly apprehensions. This was to be said. Merely foolish apprehensions without real substance, except for… for his concern for her. But... well... after all... oh well, after all... she did not know, or maybe she knew perfectly and did not say it openly, being her the Vulcan female she was… but she... well, yes... she was under his protection. Was she his woman or wasn't? She was. Consequently, she was under his protection. Full stop.

But what was there to protect her, in this case? Nothing. Nothing well-defined, indeed not even merely defined.

Yeah. Simple flimsy apprehensions. All in all, to want to well see, she was doing nothing more than engage in something that she liked. And that was not all bad. She needed to distract her mind from the recent events.

What kind of danger could there be in what she was doing?

None. Sure. NONE.

Mh, yeah.

And nevertheless...

Well yes, well... even with all his good will, he did not manage to convince himself that her current obsession could reveal itself as perfectly innocuous. Idiotic, this. Undoubtedly.

However... better to let sleeping a sleeping dog.

Illogical adage. Not at all vulcan.

Damn wise, though.

But T'Pol… eh… T'Pol was T'Pol.

Was there, by any chance, even a single woman, in all the Universe - no, in all the Universes - more stubborn than her?

Rhetorical question.

Hard, very hard, to convey his concern to his headstrong sweetie. Impossible, in fact. And then, by what means? In what way? How could he counter her iron vulcan logic with the inconsistency of his human instincts? He could try, okay. But even if he had wanted to impose himself, at the very moment in which she had looked at him with that gaze that she was capable of showing him, and only him - that gaze... sweet, almost of a little girl, of a little girl who asks, who prays - how the hell would he done to oppose resistance?

Oh well. No matter how it was - he sat up on the sofa - she was his T'Pol. And aside from the fact that he knew that, with her, all resistance was futile, it was also true that, for him - even amid more or less expressed grumblings - her every wish or penchant were something that he could not but satisfy and pander.

She was his T'Pol! This could not be forgotten!

His!

 _His woman._

And a man, a man worthy of the name and a man in love even only an infinitesimal than how much he was in love with T'Pol, can not fail to satisfy every desire, every wish, every fancy, every impulse, every urge, as much as absurd and... well, yes ... maybe even dangerous, that his woman can have.

Damn! Sometimes he would have liked to be what he was not.

A wee bit of malice, perhaps, wouldn't hurt.

But... but what the hell was he thinking?

Being bad?

Him?

With T'Pol?

 _ **His**_ T'Pol?

 _But had he become crazy?_

The events with the King had left their mark, evidently.

And not only on him.

T'Pol's interest on the myths and legends was not merely scientific, or, even less, precautionary.

There was something more.

Difficult to define.

 _But there was something more._

Oh well.

To hell.

Duty called.

* * *

The wistful look of the Princess wandered all around, on the fields, once orderly and manicured, surrounding the run-down castle, getting lost far away.

On the distant trees, which thickened far away, in the large forest, once majestic and festive.

And now grim.

Threatening.

On the hills, away on the horizon, which were slowly becoming darker in the declining of light.

Soon the darkness of the night would have swallowed everything.

Such as it had happened to the peoples of all the breeds having her same blood, reduced in gangs, in dispersed maniples, or, in the best of situations, in miserable realms living, secluded and segregated and remote, in the melancholic remembrance of the glorious past grandeur, without leaders and without kings, destined to be lost in the darkness of time.

Such as it was happening to her own people.

Who had remained?

She.

The Last Princess.

Who would never find her Prince.

* * *

"Honey?"

She had not gotten annoyed because he had not been ready to respond to her call, which was at all unusual for her. Indeed in the time he had hesitated to respond to her, she had started to read again, in practice as oblivious of having called him. Gosh! It had to be really gripping, that reading!

Recalled to active life by his voice, she stopped reading one more time and turned back toward him.

"Ashayam…"

Mh, too low, her voice. And too quiet.

And not at all reassuring, that look of her. It was the look of the T'Pol to the best of her performances. Namely of the T'Pol perfectly ready to tuck herself - and him - into the worst troubles.

Trip tried not to show his more than understandable apprehension. Only he knew how much T'Pol - in her blissful and innocent vulcanity - could be... hazardous.

"Yes, Hon?"

"Ashayam, what can you tell me of the Elves?

"The… Elves?"

So, he was not mistaken. T'Pol, his goddam and obstinate better half, had got lost in another of the myths of Earth. Damn! She would have done well to meditate, rather than spend the evenings reading all that junk!

But hadn't she had enough?

A vulcan female had to meditate in the evening! Not devote herself to the study of the legends and myths of Earth!

Or, if she just did not want to meditate... well... there was something else she could do in order... ahem... in order to distract herself. Together with him.

But she was T'Pol. His T'Pol.

His most beloved T'Pol.

Therefore...

Mh, and okay.

"I do not know much of the Elves, Hon."

"No?"

"No. I can tell you that they are fantasy figures of European folklore, especially in northern Europe, although, to tell the truth, something similar to the Elves is a little everywhere on Earth."

"Yeah, I too have noticed this."

Trip smiled. "Impossible that something can escape your observation, Hon."

T'Pol raised an eyebrow, trying in this way to divert his attention from the blush - or rather from the green - that she felt was colouring her cheeks, in hearing his compliment.

"Thank you. But I fail to catch their deepest essence."

Trip got up from the sofa. He approached her, who was sitting at the computer, half turned to this, half turned to him.

He put a hand on her shoulder.

"What do you mean, sweetie?"

T'Pol looked up at him.

"I do not understand their relationship with Humans. Sometimes they seem to be friends, sometimes seem to be enemies."

Trip nodded. "I see."

He sat up on the edge of the console, making dangle his leg.

He crossed his arms over his chest looking thoughtfully at T'Pol, who was staring at him intently.

"I'm certainly not an expert, darling, but..."

T'Pol took gently his a hand.

"You know a lot of things, Ashayam, even if you do not boast about this."

Trip smiled, half pleased, half embarrassed. "Thanks, babe." He cleared his throat. "Anyway, with regard to your question..."

"Yes?"

"Well, honey, my impression is that it is not proper to say that the Elves are enemies or friends to the Humans, but rather that it would more right to say that Humans are... well, yes... fundamentally their adversaries. Not to say true enemies. They, though. Not the Elves."

A shadow passed over T'Pol's face. Trip noticed it perfectly, but said nothing.

"Explain yourself, Ashayam."

Trip concentrated.

"Well, the Elves are beautiful and proud creatures, magical and strong, equipped with long life, perhaps even immortal. Some of them are elusive and solitary beings, but many, truly many of them, live in splendid and powerful kingdoms, _dream_ kingdoms. Whereas Humans..."

Trip smiled forcedly.

"There is enough to arouse the Humans' envy, isn't it? A defamatory envy; and bad; and destructive. Even wicked. Maybe, in appearance, Humans can also show themselves as their friends; however, deep down..."

His forced smile turned into a sombre grin.

"You know perfectly well, my love, that Humans are not exactly the epitome of virtue."

Her hand gripped strongly his. Her voice resounded even harsh.

"Ashayam! Stop it! Humans do not... you do not... you do not have anything to do with the King!"

"Yeah, sure." Trip sneered again, bitterly. "No longer. And hopefully never again."

T'Pol stood up. She came close near him. She hugged him. She kissed him.

"You are my Trip, T'hai'la." It was a sigh on his lips. "Purely and merely my Trip."

Trip squeezed T'Pol tightly to him.

It took time, but then, at last, he released her from his embrace.

She reluctantly pulled away from him.

She sat back down at the computer, her head bowed, hands in her lap.

Trip watched her.

She was uncomfortable. Or, even more, she looked...

Yes, he could not be mistaken with her, he would be mistaken with her never again, and this irrespective of the Bond. What now bound them to each other was something even stronger than the Bond, stronger even than a bond of love. It was something that you could not even define and that it was even difficult to think that there might be.

She looked as in the throes of some sort... some sort of inner turmoil. An upheaval. A profound bewilderment.

That piece, that stuff she was reading... that text, or that document or that digital recording or the devil knew what it was, which seemed to absorb her so intensely...

Trip stepped very near to her, practically on top of her. He placed again a hand on her shoulder, delicately. Gently.

Gingerly.

T'Pol grabbed almost violently his hand.

She looked up to him.

Those eyes... her marvellous dark-green eyes...

Why the hell they appeared so disquieted? Shaken. Even dismayed, it would come to him to say.

Trip squeezed her hand.

"Hon..."

In a very soft voice. And low.

"Hon, why are you so interested in the Elves?"

She hesitated. Her eyes danced, troubled.

Then finally she made up her mind to talk.

"It is due to their ears, Trip."

* * *

The Princess abruptly straightened her pretty head.

As faint and far away, the cry had not escaped her sensitive ears.

* * *

 _ **END OF CHAPTER ONE**_

 _ **TBC**_

* * *

 _What do you think, my friends?_

 _Is it intriguing?_


	2. The Ears of the Elves - Chapter Two

**The Ears of the Elves**

 **By Asso**

 **Chapter Two**

* * *

 _I'm back here, my friends._

 _My capricious muse pushed me still on its way. She told me that it was necessary for me to write the second chapter of this story of Elves and ears._

 _I, of course, could not help but obey._

 _And so, here is the chapter in question._

 _I hope that you will like it._

 _And, if you will, a recommendation. That is the same I have done as an introduction to the first chapter._

 _Certainly, you can also read this story without knowing "In the Hall of The Mountain King" (which, moreover, is work in progress). However, much of what is present in this story finds its reason for being in that other, in "In the Hall of the Mountain King"_.

 _And another little notation, that is that my innate and incorrigible narcissism drove me to some slight mention to another of my stories. "Bikini."_

 _Well, bear with me, my friends._

 _I've said, I'm a damn narcissist._

 _Please, forgive me._

* * *

 **The Ears of the Elves**

 **Chapter Two**

Trip looked at T'Pol with baffled eyes. He removed his hand from her shoulder and straightened up.

She, if possible, looked even more ill at ease now than before, but... well... but this time Trip could understand why. Yeah, because she basically was saying to him that ... that ... that she...

But really had he got it right?

He turned and walked back to the sofa, while T'Pol's eyes were following him, restless.

He sat on the couch and rested his arms on his knees. He watched her with furrowed forehead.

She shifted uncomfortably in her chair.

"Okay, let me know if I've well understood."

T'Pol did not move or speak.

She looked down and hid her hands between her thighs, as if she was not sure what to do with them, while waiting for Trip to continue.

And he did.

But not in the way she feared he would.

He did it calmly. Even placidly.

He deliberately suppressed the innate impetuosity that was own to him. He knew that T'Pol liked his impetuosity, this was evident in the facts and also by her own admission. But it now was not the time to give vent to that impetuosity. It was certainly not the moment to tell her ... ' _What the hell got into you? Where the heck has your logic gone to end up?'_

Eh sure, because difficult, rather difficult, not to say nearly impossible, to find something logical in the route along which she had ventured, if what he thought was hidden in her meagre words was true. But it was not just the case to blurt it in face to her. Absolutely no.

T'Pol, his T'Pol, was in need of understanding and participation.

She, in practice, still provided that he had got it right - but there were not too many doubts about that, and she had well understood that he had understood - had not behaved… much logically.

And this was harsh for her. Very harsh.

Therefore, he had to support her.

In every way, possible and impossible.

Matter was that, much as she'd now fully understood that there was something higher than the logic that, from the vulcan perspective, ruled the universe, that love was far beyond her _beloved_ logic, she was still T'Pol, namely his wonderful but - it had not to be forgotten - still his _vulcan_ T'Pol; who had lived a whole life immersed in a logic that seemed to her to be the antithesis of the logic to which, in the end, she had yielded.

The logic of their love.

He was well aware of all this and was well aware that, _with stress and effort and hard fatigue_ , she had chosen in the end to live in the stormy logic of their love rather than in the quiet logic that had governed her life before the two of them met.

Therefore, even only for that, she deserved everything from him.

Everything and much more than everything.

He... he had a _duty_ towards her that no other man had ever had towards his woman, because no woman, ever, had crossed the chasm that T'Pol had crossed for him, for the love she felt for him.

But this was a duty that he was much more than merely willing to fulfil.

It was the most splendid of duties.

It was the daily marvel that filled his life since when T'Pol... since when _his strong yet fragile - yes, fragile, much as far-fetched this could sound -_ marvellous vulcan doll… had entrusted herself to him!

Since when, knowingly, she had abandoned all her certainties to rely completely on the certainty of his love for her.

And what implied all this? It implied, thing of which he was perfectly conscious, that inevitably… - and she had accepted and permitted and fostered this to happen; _she, just she_ ; even with all her vulcan pride – … _inevitably_ he had become for her the life buoy to which she knew she could - _and had to_ \- cling on whenever she floundered. Even when, in reality, there was no reason to flounder if not her difficulty, more than understandable, to swim in a sea in which she had never thought of having to swim.

Trip could not help but smile with himself.

Oh yeah. Especially considering that she, before surrendering fully to the feeling that she felt for him, did not even know how to swim.

And how splendid had been to teach her to swim!

Really and metaphorically. **(** **)**

A thing that was indeed worth it to continue to do.

He smiled warmly.

"Sweetie, let's see a little. It is my understanding that you were struck by the fact that the ears that Humans ascribe to the Elves in their myths are... peculiar."

T'Pol remained silent, eyes downcast. But she nodded.

"Okay, hon. And, in effect, they are... pointed."

Another assent nod. A wee bit hesitant this time, to tell the truth.

"More or less... ahem... like those of Vulcans."

T'Pol's eyes got up sharply. This time she spoke. With a whisper. "Yes."

"You... um… you have thought... you have thought that..."

Oh, now he had to be very - VERY - cautious! His sweet vulcan baby doll could become very sharp when someone pointed out that she had shown an aspect not really proper to what she thought it was to be expected from her. And the thorns could be _extremely_ sharp-pointed if it was him to notice and to point out to her... her mistake. Oh yes. Extremely sharp-pointed. On his poor, defenceless skin!

Damn! How it was difficult to make her happy and contented!

But how it was terrifyingly nice! It was something for which it was worth to spend the whole life and even more.

The look of gratitude and true happiness that she showed him when he offered her the way to be the vulcan T'Pol without being it really… ah, that look was worth all the gold in the world and infinitely more.

Oh, mind you! T'Pol, his T'Pol, was anything but a fool. She was extremely - _supremely_ \- intelligent and certainly she didn't let herself be fooled by his amorous comedy. She knew perfectly well that, when he behaved so towards her, it was because he was offering her the buoy rescue she needed. But that was not the point. The point, the real central point, was that he did it and that she was happy that he did.

There was need anything else?

He resumed talking, always in a calm voice and warm, trying to give a clear shape to the motivations that had pushed her to her researches by avoiding letting out even the slightest tone of surprise, let alone dissent or disapproval. He had merely to explain those reasons, since T'Pol had not the heart to do it, but he had to make her feel that he was with her. That it was all right.

"Okay, let me attempt to express what your intentions were." He coughed as if to clear his throat. "Ehm… so… considering, as also our recent experiences show, that, anything but infrequently, myths have a basis in reality, you, being the true scientist you are, have thought that... who knows?... the pointed ears that Humans attribute to the Elves could be the result… oh, well… the result of some ancient and unknown contact they had with Vulcans." He winked, conspiratorial, at her. "Am I wrong, babe?"

Those wonderful eyes of her, fluttered with obvious embarrassment. " Nnn... no. You... you're not."

Here. Now. And in a tone that wasn't supposed to betray the slightest hint of irony or mockery. His damn usual irony, in that moment, he had to throw it in the toilet!

"More than logical, my love, more than logical. And worthy of the scientist full of scientific curiosity that you are."

There it was! There it was, that wonderful look on her part!

Okay, ahead like this. Before... before to arrive to pull out from her the cause of all that disconcertment on her part, the disconcertment, that is, she had clearly shown before, as a consequence... yes, as a consequence of what she was reading.

A disconcertment, a dismay, quite different from the embarrassment that she had shown for being brought by him to admit that she'd succumbed to the urge to engage in researches about the Elves that were… eh well, yes… anything but logical. Regardless of the aura of scientific reasonableness with which he had prettily justified them.

She had followed an impulse not at all scientific. Why on earth the pointed ears of the Elves should have been the result of some ancient contact between Vulcans and Humans? Of course, if that had truly happened, it would be at all logical that Humans had seen Vulcans as magical and higher creatures, and that they could hand down someway their aspect in their myths, the myth of the Elves. But how the hell could such a fact have happened? Too far back in time. Vulcans had achieved the knowledge required to cross space abysses since long a time, of course, but not since a time enough to allow an encounter of such an ancient date. And then... possible that such a fact had not left a trace in Vulcan history? There would have been to think that, if indeed something like that had happened, this had happened to a vulcan society pre-existing to the current one, a society in possession of the knowledge of the warp technology before the start of the known vulcan history and disappeared in the abyss of time without letting a trace, if not... in the ears of the Elves.

Possible? Maybe. But honestly, although the recent experiences with the Bannerdas and the King led to believe that nothing, really nothing, was impossible... well, frankly a wee bit excessive.

But... yeah… but T'Pol, perhaps even without wittingly wanting to admit it, had thought of something like that and had launched herself in her researches.

Irrational? Sure.

But T'Pol could be irrational.

Apparently.

Apparently, just so. Only apparently. Because, behind her unsuspected irrationality - unsuspected for the others, but certainly not for him - there was often if not always something much, much stronger than her unsuspected apparent irrationality.

And he had come to respect very much her seemingly irrational impulses.

In her, there was also an incredible intuitive ability. In her, it acted with powerful strength. Not even this, she would ever admit, but it was so. And he knew it. It was something, in a way, very close to what she defined as his own ability to penetrate the essence of things, to understand things beyond the logic of things themselves, a compliment of which he went very proud, above all considering it came from her.

It was, in practice, another unexpected point of contact between the two of them, apparently so dissimilar and yet, in fact so similar to each other; the result of different cultures, sure, but... yeah... on closer inspection, forged in the same smithy and with the same mold. And, who knows, maybe the Bond that united them to one another had taken shape because it could not be otherwise, because, really, the two of them could be nothing but _'one'_ , since they had been forged at different times, perhaps, but, however, in exactly the same forge. It was not possible that the two halves of the same… product… could stay separated from each other.

Oh, he knew that his was a very human, and romantic, and imaginative vision of their being one. And he knew that she would raise her eyebrow in disapproval if he had revealed to her his strange thoughts, his bizarre ideas. But, in all honesty, he did not know how much that raised eyebrow would actually correspond to her own ideas, to her own thoughts, or if, rather, it would not simply be the tribute that she would feel compelled to pay to her nature of vulcan woman. Because… he knew it, he was sure... because, in her heart, in her true, profound essence, she felt and thought exactly the same way.

And so, just like in him - and it was T'Pol to say that for him it was so - so even in her and perhaps, in an even more powerful way probably connected with her vulcan nature, something, very similar to the instinctuality that was own of him, worked with great force.

In any case, at the showdown, behind what T'Pol thought or did, there was very often a motivation even more ironclad than logic, regardless of whether she was aware of it or not.

In this, even more than in her logic, it was possible to find, not at all infrequently, the authentic, veritable expression of her true Vulcanity.

Like now. As in this case. As in the case of her plunging into the illogical, absurd, irrational, research about the Elves, or, rather, about the irrational possibility that the Elves could be the mythical transfigured remembrance of an unlikely contact between Humans and Vulcans whose trace was the shape of the ears of the Elves in the human legends.

And why did he think that once again his ineffable T'Pol had hit the mark, following her ... Oh come on! It was so! ...her _illogical_ impulse?

Because of her disconcertment.

What the hell had she found?

What the hell could there be, in what whose reading was so engaging for her to make her even act... but yes!... absentmindedly? Almost oblivious of the present and of her actions in the present?

This yes, that was decidedly not own of her!

But he had to act gradually.

When his priceless vulcan better half was in this state, she had to be taken with pliers!

 _*So, let's see.*_

The first hurdle, that of making her feel at ease or, at least, sufficiently at ease, because consoled by the realization that he approved her and that he thought and asserted that she had not then acted so illogically despite the irrationality of her actions; the hurdle of making well clear to her his total comprehension, his being at all at her side… this hurdle had been overcome.

And now? How was it advisable to continue?

The... ahem... the logic said that the most obvious thing to do was to ask her ' _Honey, what the heck have you found?'._

But this was not the time to act logically. Much as this could sound strange, it was not by logic that he could bring to light her fears and apprehensions. The reasons of her dismay.

When she could not cope with a situation, it was even difficult to make her do the most obvious things.

Like saying things as they were.

She had found something she would never have expected to find, which created bewilderment inside her, thing, this one, she did not know how to deal with. And, as usual in these cases, instead of asking him for help directly, she tried to get closer to the core, to disclose her needs and fears, indirectly, by means of concentric approach circles.

That phrase, _"It is due to their ears",_ let fall so, in that way, so that he could understand, but avoiding saying what was behind, avoiding speaking clearly, was exemplary in this respect.

Damn, how she had taken it from a distance!

And... holy cow! ... how he had become skilled in vulcan psychology! Stuff to make pale Phlox!

Hum, well. Actually he had necessarily become an expert in _T'Polic_ psychology.

But this was always part of his duty towards her. His wonderful duty of love.

All right. All right. So, since she had started from the ears of the Elves...

 _*Go with these ears, man!*_

Trip, frankly, felt again the unpleasant feeling that behind the tips of those ears there could be in lurking a possible danger. However it was nothing more than a feeling, probably due to his current idiosyncrasy for the myths and legends. Well, after all, he had good reasons!

But, however it were, those ears appeared to be central in this whole story.

So _*Come on, boy!*_

Still smiling, he got up, under the gaze now definitely more limpid of T'Pol.

But she continued to be quiet. She did not speak, wasn't capable of taking the decision to say anything about what provoked inside her the dismay she did not know how to deal with, a clear sign, this, that he was right.

She needed a push.

But this was not to be a curt push.

And it was necessary and appropriate that she felt capable of controlling the situation. Namely herself.

This was the most important thing for her.

She needed balance.

She had lost her vulcan balance because of him, under the push, and anything but slight, this one, of the love she had for him. So it was his precise, enduring - and wonderful - duty to make sure that she could find in him the balance that was necessary, essential, to her.

Basically - and this was gorgeous - her balance was him!

Exacting, full of responsibility. But gorgeous.

The gorgeous tribute that much more than willingly he had to pay for having been successful in the undreamt feat of making her fall in love with him and of bringing her to accept and to want it, with all the consequences this had for her.

 _*Here we are, my dear chief engineer. Remember that she is not one of your machines. She is much more complex and delicate._ * He smiled to himself. _*And damnedly more beautiful and precious.*_

Always under the watchful eye of her, he had come back near to her.

Now he had to be again the Trip she wanted more than any other Trip he could appear. The Trip irritatingly ironic and mocking who aroused her disapproval.

She loved to disapprove him. This made her feel in control of the situation.

This put things right.

In this way, he was the usual rascal she loved. And she the usual poor victim of his rogueries, that she had to reprimand and to correct.

Perfect.

A perfect conjugal situation.

Conjugal, because if, officially, the two of them were not married, at least with official ceremonies, human and/or vulcan, de facto they were married, for explicit declaration of T'Pol. Of... ahem... his wife. And she stated bluntly that he was her husband.

Actually, he missed the formalization of their conjugal status, but... all in good time.

In him an idea had sprouted up. And someday he would give a finished form to this idea.

In due course.

 _In due course._

 _And in the right place._

There, in the Fire Plains, right there, where she had told him that she would have married that idiot of Koss to fulfil her idiotic vulcan duties... there, he would ask her to marry him officially. With the vulcan ritual. The same ritual with which that imbecile of Koss had shamefully, foolishly - _vainly_ \- tried to take her away from him. And ending up by paying very dearly for his squalid, lousy action. In the most unexpected way.

Trip couldn't help but grin inwardly with grim satisfaction. Not really nice, this, honestly, but, frankly, he couldn't care less for being his thought not precisely elegant, in this regard.

Yes, he would take even this revenge on that disgusting worm of Koss. **(()** **)**

When he would have realized that the time had come.

And she, his T'Pol, would tell him **'yes'**.

There would have been no escape for her, about it.

He would have given her no escape.

And she - with joy - wouldn't have sought any escape.

Anyway, officially married or not, the two of them were even now as husband and wife. And neither of them hesitated to call the other with the name that was due to the other. Husband. Wife.

And the situation to which he had been able to give life now was a perfect conjugal situation.

Even for a vulcan female, like her.

Yep. I was so, in spite of her being Vulcan.

Certainly it was true that, strange as it could seem, the so-called evolved Vulcan society assigned to women the role of "property" of the male spouse, not to mention that marriages could be decided independently of the will of the future spouses.

In sincerity, not that he disliked that T'Pol was... his property. This had indubitably a certain appeal for him, in the light of the punishments of hell through which he had had to pass because of her. It was the law of retaliation, something that her compatriots would find absolutely logical. Her being his property, they would have said, was the right retaliation for the pains of hell - Oh well! Come on! It was so! - that he had had to suffer for her obstinacy in denying her feelings for him. And... thing not to believe... this wasn't unwelcome even to her, namely her being his property. She herself had said this to him. She had told him that de facto they were married because the Bond could take shape only between two Beings who were married to each other in grace of a force superior to any rite of formalization. These were her own words. And - these too were her own words - given that she was a vulcan female, she belonged to him, even regardless of what had happened between him and that miscreated of Koss. **(()** **)**

She was his property. Full stop.

Okay, okay. All true. However it was his distinct impression, which was corroborated by the facts, that is to say by his conjugal-like status with T'Pol, that, ultimately, it was not that you had just to take for granted that among Vulcans the baton of command was firmly kept in the husband's hands. Oh no. Not at all. - An amused smile made its way inside him. - At least judging by how things were between him and T'Pol.

Actually, he was pretty sure that the normal married life of human boys married with human females had... how to say?... many points of contact with that between him and T'Pol.

Of course, there was to say, T'Pol was a vulcan female very special. There was in her, irrespective of the incredible (for the Vulcans) choice she had made to bind herself to him, a Human... well, there was something in her that made her stand out from the society from which she came as a golden eagle stands out against the background of a flock of little birds.

And the comparison fitted perfectly, because of the golden eagle T'Pol had the strength and pride.

And... oh yes... even the spirit rapacious and predatory.

He... ahem... he knew something about that. - His inner smile became even more amused. - Making love with her was amazing beyond all description, but, well, it had its... dangerous sides. Those were the occasions in which she buckled down infernally to show him with absolute fullness what it exactly meant for a vulcan female being property of her man. Or, rather, what, in vulcan terms, it meant for a man to take care with real fulness of something that was his property, in the matter in question of a vulcan female, and of a vulcan female as rapacious and predatory as T'Pol! A fatigue of hell! And not at all infrequently resulting in several and painful black and blue marks on his poor body. But ... - at this point his amused interior smile could be called a smugly grin - ... but, damn, what a pleasant fatigue! In every respect. Bruises included.

Certainly, despite the points of contact that he had learned that existed between the married life of Humans and the... how to say?... the common-law marriage of him and T'Pol; despite the, so to say, 'facilitation' deriving from a certain character of universality that women had - all women; in the whole universe - and he... well, this couldn't be denied ... he had some experience in this area; despite all this, it was still true that he had had to invent the conjugal-like life between him and T'Pol. Together with her, of course, but... well... but he was the one more flexible between the two of them. Intransigent, sure. This, he was. As she had pointed out to him when their beautiful love adventure was about to begin; when, that is, they were going to start their neuropressure sessions. This, namely that he was intransigent, with himself and with others, he could not deny it. But not for this he was unable to be flexible. He was. Damn, if he was! Otherwise, how on earth would he do with T'Pol? With her it was absolutely necessary to adapt yourself and adapt situations. With her it was absolutely necessary to be flexible. Not that this weighed on him, but ... guys! ... what a fatigue of hell!

Anyway, between him and his beautiful vulcan better half, the role of being flexible was up to him. T'Pol knuckled down, nothing to say, but in the end she was still a vulcan female, with all the rigidity of Vulcans.

Oh mind you! He absolutely did not want her to be different! He wanted her, his T'Pol! Absolutely not a woman other than the one she was!

But, honestly, sometimes - _sometimes?_ \- this made rather difficult their marital-like relationship.

And the task (and the effort) to smooth edges fell invariably and of necessity, given his human flexibility, on his shoulders.

But... guys!... how much it was worth it!

And then, in this way ... - Trip smiled again to himself - ...in this way... well... he had become an expert.

An expert in interspecies conjugal life. For any couple. Whether officially married or in fact.

Damn! To well think of it...

Wow! One day or the other he should have thought seriously of organizing an education course in conjugal interspecies psychology!

It could have been a major source of income. There was no one who could boast an experience like his. Indeed, there was no one except him, who could claim to have any experience in this field and, considering the beauty of the life between him and T'Pol as a couple married de facto - because their married-like life was beautiful; this was more than sure - well... he had to consider himself rather on the ball.

 _*Okay, man, okay. You're really good at this. Now see to prove it.*_

Now he was firm just in front of the unknowing source of all his elucubrations and looked at her from above.

He resumed what he had just said to her. "More than logical, sweetie, more than logical, also because…" He paused. He smiled mischievously. "Do you know, honey? Maybe you haven't even thought about this, but your research is logical beyond than you can believe."

Her gaze became even more attentive. And, Trip could have bet, even more relieved. Yes, she presaged that he would come out with one of his rascalities.

And she was happy of that.

Trip's lips curved up in a frank, teasing smile.

"The charm of the pointed ears of Vulcans is something that transcends logic. Worthy of being handed down over time in myths and legends."

There it was! There it was, at last! The eyebrow! The eyebrow fiercely lifted to rebuke him!

"Trip!"

Ah excellent! The most admonitory of her reproachful tones. A little touch yet, and the game was done.

He continued undaunted, winking playfully at her. "You can believe me, sweetheart. I am an expert on the subject."

And before she could even only think to retort, his hand snapped and his thumb and his index grasped softly but firmly the delicate tip of her ear and began to rub it gently with the finger-tips.

At that point, there was a long moment without words.

A long, wonderful moment during which Trip did nothing else except than basking in the expression of T'Pol. Lost, with eyes closed, in the vibrant pleasure that his gesture aroused in her.

Then, he leaned over her, approached his mouth to her ear sweetly tortured by his fingers and sighed into that ear.

"There is nothing more fascinating than the tips of vulcan ears." His lips brushed the tip of that ear that suffered from pleasure in the torment of his caress. "I mean, than the delicious tips of your delicious ears for me, my sweet bonbon."

T'Pol vaguely realized that she had to react. But how could she do that, with the tip of her ear so stupendously tormented between his fingers? How could she, in the ecstasy that this caused to her?

With her eyes still closed, she stammered. "Do you... do you..." - Oh how it was difficult to talk! - "Do you like my pointy ears, T'hai'la?"

Ruthlessly, sweetly mercilessly, without ceasing his torment, he added torture to torture.

His teeth bit lightly that tip without peace.

"You know it, babe." His teeth were pitiless. "I adore the tips of your ears."

"Ashayam..." Weakly, without strength, not even that of opening the eyes. How... how could she react? Rebel against that wonderful torture? "Please..." How was it possible? "Please, stop. I..." _How was it possible?_ "I have to... I have to talk to you."

Here! Yes! Thus! Her bewilderment and her embarrassment were about to be overcame. She had managed to tell him that she had to speak to him, that she had something important to tell him.

One last move and the game was over.

With his victory.

And with hers!

Trip obeyed, in a way. He stopped. Yes. He stopped nibbling T'Pol's ear tip. But he did not quit plaguing that tip between his fingers. And his other hand snapped to do to her other ear what the first ear was already suffering.

T'Pol's eyes widened abruptly. Her hands snapped upwardly to grab his wrists; broke away forcefully his hands from her ears.

She panted.

"Trip, no!"

She brought his hands well away from her ears.

"Trip! Enough! You... you know I lose all my lucidity when you do to me this!"

Without minimally getting upset, with his wrists tight convulsively in her hands, Trip smiled slyly.

"And does this displease you, sweetheart?"

"Yes! That is, no! But... but everything in due course!"

T'Pol released Trip's wrists. She stood up with dignity, although with a little difficulty, to be honest, both with regard to her getting up and to the effort to assume an air of dignity, while her damn beloved Ashayam drew a little back to make room for her, without abandoning his sly smile.

She was silent for a moment, gathering strength to try to compose herself properly.

She succeeded, eventually, and raised proudly her eyebrow.

The sly smile slowly disappeared from Trip's lips, but not from his eyes or, even less, from his heart and here the smile became a broad grin of contentment and satisfaction.

He had made it.

That was the most perfect air of disapproval and reproach that T'Pol could take.

Missing the last, small piece, yet, the crowning of his sweet labours, the cherry on the cake, but he knew that it was coming and it would have been a delicious cherry, with a flavour out of the ordinary. A little acidulous and zesty, perhaps, not exactly characteristic of a cherry, but definitely to savour with great pleasure.

His sweet half squared her shoulders and folded her arms across her chest, without lowering the eyebrow and looking sternly at him.

It was not easy for Trip not to laugh.

But he succeeded.

Ah, what you do for love!

And about the fact that he was madly in love with T'Pol... well... what else should he do to prove it?

T'Pol's voice sounded stern, at least as much as her expression.

"I must talk to you of what I've found. It is an important thing. And... ahem... I need all my lucidity to tell you about it."

Oh yes, a very juicy cherry! Really savoury.

Trip nodded, with a doing... as if he were a little annoyed.

But maybe this time he did not succeeded well in his intent, because she, his T'Pol - it was almost impossible to notice it and indeed nobody else except him would have been able to catch sight of it - _unequivocally_ smiled with sweetness. A slight, extremely slight, sweet smile, just barely hinted, while her eyebrow went down and her eyes glistened intensely.

She had understood perfectly. And, for that matter, could one have any doubt in this regard? Wasn't she really, really clever? Although, of course, lacking in the cunning tricks and... well, yes... even in the, let's admit, crafty knavery that, let's admit this too, he knew use so well? Even though - and it came to Trip to wink at himself - his influence on her made itself felt about that. Yeah, because she was learning. And rather well!

Oh yes. She had understood perfectly all that was behind his mischief. His _naughty_ and _playful_ mischief

And she was _more_ than happy of that.

And her love for him had become even stronger, if possible. The Bond was vibrating of her love for him. And was not this bigger, immeasurably bigger than any effort that he could do for her? There was not, there couldn't be any effort on his part, any undertaking, even the most tiring, the strangest, the most far-fetched, that did not deserve to be accomplished for feeling the Bond vibrate so.

Yes, she had realized perfectly.

He had returned her the mastery of the situation and of herself.

He had made it so that everything could fall within the normalcy.

He had made sure to be the usual Trip, the rascal whom she had to govern and bring back to the order, making skilfully leak out her alleged nuisance and impatience. And with concealed pleasure and delight.

With love.

He had put back in her hand the baton of command.

And so she had been able to go back to be herself. The one who possessed control, who did not let fall herself prey to the disconcert.

It was not the first time he had done this and certainly it wouldn't be the last.

He knew it.

She knew it.

And none of them said it.

It was their great little secret.

A secret made of love.

He was the husband, in all respects, and, therefore, the baton of command was up to him, according to age-old law, unwritten yet so steely, of Vulcan. And yet, he had made sure that the baton of command was in her hands, because it was better, in that moment, that it was so. But was that then really true? In fact - and this was to be husband and wife for real, as the two of them were, much more than many couples officially married - the baton of command wasn't his. But not even hers.

Yes, he had put back in her hand the baton of command, but who for real had command between them two?

Neither she nor him.

In command there was love.

Her voice startled him from the delightful thoughts in which he had lost himself.

It was a firm voice. A little impatient. And nonetheless - undeniably - _inscrutably_ sweet.

"Would you be kind enough to pay attention to me, _husband_? I need to make you acquainted with what has come into my hands."

Jeez! What a formal language! Exactly hers! Even in the tone of controlled impatience. And then... _'husband'_? Ah really, really perfect! She spoke to him by using such a name only when she considered that it was necessary to put back him in line.

This was really a perfect marital situation, even more than before.

The wife who, wrongly or rightly, strives to put a little salt in the pumpkin of her husband and the husband who resignedly surrenders to his wife, whether she is right or wrong.

Perfectly normal.

Everywhere and at all the breeds of universe, just as his personal, _magnificent_ , experience with T'Pol had taught him.

Heavens! Maybe subsequent to the education course in conjugal interspecies psychology, he would have to think about arranging a graduate course in conjugal interspecies psychology specifically dedicated to mixed marriages between Humans and Vulcans.

There was to be sure that he would be a great teacher.

Okay. Now, in accordance with the perfect marital situation that had come to get established, he… _had to surrender resignedly to his wife_. So... _*Come on, man!*_

Hard to think about an expression able to be denser of resigned surrender than that that appeared on his innocent, knavish face.

And the tone of his words, then!

The ancient actors of art comedy could have been defined amateurs, compared to him!

"Okay, wife." And he strongly emphasized this name. _Wife_. "I'm listening."

But... eh, but... a sweet little roguery... come on! This, why not? After all, was he a scoundrel or not?

"I'm… _all ears_ , wife."

T'Pol's eyebrow got up as ever it had risen previously.

"Husband..."

"Yes, wife?"

T'Pol shook her head. Better to let it go. And then, in all honesty, what could she want from him more than what he was already giving her? Than what he always gave her?

Love. And control. And balance. And love. Love. Love.

Love!

Without asking for anything more than what was already his and his alone.

Her love for him.

Sometimes T'Pol wondered if...

How were the names of those strange figures of one of the religious beliefs of the homeland of her husband in facts? Those figures... the... ah yes... the Saints.

Wasn't it, by chance, that he was one of them?

It was necessary... well, she had to be honest with herself... it was necessary... yes, so they said... the patience of a saint to be her husband!

Yeah. Sure. But... eh, however, she was not at all far behind him. His being a likeable... yes, a _likeable_ rogue... this pleased her... this pleased her to death, let's admit. But ... for Surak! ... how much patience it took to be what de facto she was for him! His wife!

But how it was awfully nice!

And on the other hand...

The thought struck strongly T'Pol, as many other times it had happened. As many, many other times it would happen again.

On the other hand he knew perfectly well that she liked to death his being a rapscallion, that she liked to death to scold him and purport to be annoyed with him for being so. And so... so he resorted to this side of his character on purpose when she... when she was in trouble. When she was not able to be in control of the situation and of herself.

It was... it was easy for her to regain control if she could rebuke him for his... for his delightful, boyish roguery.

Like a wife does with the husband she loves.

Like the wife that she de facto was did with the husband she loved so much.

 _Her Trip._

It was the way he used to make her feel in control, at ease, when she could not cope with the situation.

And he used it because he knew that, with her, it worked.

As many times it had happened.

As many, many other times it would happen.

She knew it.

He knew it.

And none of them said it.

It was their great little secret.

A secret made of love.

He had put back in her hand the baton of command, as Humans would say, by using his charming roguery, knowing that this would have allowed her to regain her control and balance.

But who for real had the baton of command between them two?

Neither he nor her.

In command there was love.

His voice startled her from the delightful thoughts in which she had lost herself.

It was a teasing voice. A little irreverent. And nonetheless - undeniably - _inscrutably_ sweet.

"Hey wife! Still alive?"

 _*Oh Surak!*_ "I am, husband, and…"

"Oh, thank goodness! I was a little worried. So? Can I know what you want to talk about? I bet ..."

 _*_ _Katras of my vulcan ancestors! What sort of roguish smile on his face!*_

... "I bet it's something that speaks of ears."

 _*Damn of a husband! *_ "Indeed so, husband."

"Something told me so. And I bet it comes to elven ears." He winked slyly. "And maybe even of vulcan ears."

T'Pol sighed visibly, putting in show all her resigned disapproval for his way of doing. But, in fact, it was exactly what she had to do.

What she was expected she would do.

He, her beloved, incomparable husband, as in facts he was, had made sure that she could do it.

He had brought back the situation to normal.

The wife who strives to put a little salt in the pumpkin of her husband and who must resign herself to the impossibility of doing so.

A perfect marital situation among Humans, as far as she knew.

At least that was what her ineffable other half of herself, to put it in human terms, was always saying to her. There was to have trust? He was ... he was such a damn freebooter! He himself had taught her what such a name meant. And - for Surak! - he really was this!

But... but she was sure that, in this regard, he did not behave with her like the freebooter he was.

He, somehow, said the truth, maybe blanketing it with some exaggeration, but, in reality, without lying at all.

Certainly, such a kind of conjugal life, namely the one they shared, was not the one her culture had instilled in her. In her culture, the female - the wife, the one she was in the facts – was… was… eh well, it was so… was property of her husband.

Therefore, in the facts, she… was property of her Trip.

And… and this didn't displease at all to her.

And... oh well, yes... not even to him.

However...

However he did not behave with her as if she were his property. Sometimes, this yes. As it was right that it was. As both of them liked that it was.

T'Pol smiled, inevitably, within herself, as, thanks to him, she had long since learned to do. And with true pleasure.

And she had every reason in the world to smile inwardly, because his being more than satisfied that she were his property, well, this leapt out patently at... certain peculiar… private… moments.

Their moments of love.

The way she showed him that she was really his property when the two of them made love... well, that way was not at all unwelcome to him! Oh no. Definitely not at all. Despite the not exactly moderate amount of bruises that, as a result of her eagerness to demonstrate how she was his property, he invariably found spread a little everywhere on his aching body. Pleasantly aching, maybe it was righter to say, judging by the pleased look he had at the end of her clear and... practical demonstrations of her belonging to him.

And... and for sure not even she disliked the total possession of her that he exercised in those moments. Being possessed by him in that way, so fully, intensely, deeply... ahem... very deeply... in katra and... and body... such a wonderful sensation was... indescribable!

The inward smile of T'Pol became deeper, as she relived within herself those wonderful moments and savoured the idea that countless other moments like those would come in the future.

But in reality… in reality only in those moments, and with full and mutual satisfaction, he, her husband-master, exercised his right of property over her.

Her inner smile got cloaked in a warm, sweet joy, and she had extremely solid motivations for doing so.

Why? But because only in those moments, _only in those_ , his domineering and… and gorgeous masculinity led him to possess her as if she were belonging to him, truly his property. Exactly as she was, in those moments. And... and always, actually!

But for the rest, under no other circumstance, he, the master of her heart, by no means made use of his rights of ownership over her, that he had according to the unwritten but ironclad laws of Vulcan, perfectly valid in their case, even without the vulcan official formalization of their being married. The Bond that had formed between them stood well higher than the temporal authority of a priest and than the formal act of a mere, mundane ceremony.

And this fact, by itself, transcended even the ratification of her being his property as a result ... - T'Pol could not help but cringe inwardly at the memory - ... as a result of what had happened - _incredibly_ happened - between her Ashayam... and Koss. **(()** **)**

He, her husband in fact, was well aware of all that and, ultimately, she... she would have understood him if, by exercising his right, he had wanted to retaliate a little on her for all... for all the pains of hell, as sometimes - _but smiling! Smiling warmly and with mild irony!_ \- he indulged to tell her she had forced him to go through.

Perhaps... this, yes... maybe she would be disappointed, in some ways, if he had done so, because he... he would not have been really her Trip, the man who had made her fall in love. But she would understand. And she would adapt. To this, she would adapt.

But she had no reason to feel disappointed. And how could she?

He didn't hold her as the woman who was his property.

He respected her even more than how he had done before and held her as the most precious good that could exist.

And... and this was stupendous!

No vulcan female could enjoy this sensation, this joy. No other except her.

And this was more than stupendous.

And not only this.

He, slowly but impetuously, as it was distinctive of him, had introduced her into a normalcy of living very different from that she had expected from a conjugal life. From the life that would have been granted to her by that skunk of Koss. No vulcan term could better express what Koss was more accurately than that human term. _Skunk._ A grimy, stinky skunk.

Her Trip had led her to be a different vulcan woman. A _better_ vulcan woman. Better and - if the interior smile of T'Pol had shown itself, it would now have been an amused and satisfied giggle - _spicier_ than any other vulcan female.

And stronger. More self-confident.

Because _her_ love for him was such as to push her to be so?

Sure.

But mainly because _his_ love for her... _his love for her_ ... - oh how she was lucky! - his love for her was immense!

And this love, the love he had for her, had transformed her. Had changed her.

And she knew that at every moment she would find in him the strength to be the new woman she was.

He, too, of course, he too had changed. Somehow he had come closer up to her vulcan essence, just as she had done with his humanity. But he remained still a Human, thanks to Surak! Her human man, just as she was his vulcan woman. And in his humanity, in his being Human, there was flexibility. He was intransigent, yes. She remembered when she had said this to him when... when their neuropressure sessions were going to start; when their wonderful love adventure was about to begin. Yes, he was intransigent, with himself and with others. Rightly intransigent. He demanded a lot from himself and could not conceive that it was not so for others. But that did not mean he was not flexible, that he wasn't capable of adapting and of adapting things to himself and... and to her. On account of her needs.

For her, it was not so. For her it was really hard to be flexible.

Vulcans were capable and talented and intelligent, but certainly very little flexible. They were as rigid as their logic, and, indeed, looked with suspicious eyes at the human flexibility, not to say that they disapproved it, just as she did, before she had had to live with Humans and among them, on _Enterprise_. Above all before she met her Trip

She was a rigid Vulcan, it was so. It was written in her genes and in the culture that had formed her.

But despite that, thanks to him, thanks to her Ashayam, thanks to his love, a little more flexible she had become. She had learned to be less rigid, to understand, to adapt, to savour any side of beauty that life could offer.

As the beauty of her life together with him.

She had learned to be the vulcan female who was supposed to be the property of her husband - Of him. Of her Trip. – as her culture wanted her to be; and at the same time the female without limits of race or culture who loved living with him as a female of his own race would do, according to what she knew and what he told her.

Or... or perhaps, more simply, this way of living together that the two of them had was nothing but the glaring demonstration of what he argued forcefully and vigorously

And that is that the rules of love are universal.

And, in fact, it came natural to her, normal, to be so, as she was, with him.

This, for her and for him, was their normalcy. The peculiar normalcy, the normality their own, of their life as husband and wife, of their life... how was it? ... Ah yes. More uxorio.

The normality in which she could be fully herself. Without fears and without apprehensions.

And, now, he, the unparalleled husband, who, more uxorio precisely, lived with her, the unparalleled gift that what Humans called fate had wanted to give her, had made sure that normalcy could be restored, in ... in the teeth of her difficulty to withstand the impact of what she had found and that had disturbed her so deeply that she again had had to take refuge in his invaluable and unfailing protection.

Oh yes! She was really lucky! Her compatriots would have found it hard to understand, but she was incomparably lucky.

Because she had him!

She had the stupendous normalcy of their life together.

And now, this normalcy, the normalcy in which she could have control and quiet, was back, in spite of the... the hard bewilderment she had had to cope with without knowing how to do.

He had allowed this to happen.

She had understood this perfectly well. She had perfectly understood what he had done.

Oh, how she loved him! She felt the Bond vibrate of all her love for him. And she knew that he too could feel it.

"Hey, honey! Look, my ears are waiting! More open than they are, they can not be! But if you make them wait a little longer, I do not guarantee that they can stay so."

 _*Scoundrel! Damn… damn wonderful, stupendous scoundrel!*_

"I proceed immediately, husband. I apologize. I can not demand you to maintain your concentration beyond the limits of your own species."

Was it too much? Had she pushed too far the game? Had she conceded too much to her vulcan harshness?

But no! No. His eyes said no. His beautiful blue eyes were laughing.

As his voice. "Oookay. Touché, wife. But could you try to get closer to my poor human mind, just a little, at least? I mean, do not put so hard to the test my human limitations, please. Have understanding."

T'Pol smiled back. Not with the mouth, not that. But her eyes were all a smile.

She spoke with clarity and self importance. Well, by golly! Was she the vulcan wife, all precision and exactitude and control, that she was or not?

"I will try, husband."

"Oh, thanks God!"

She raised her eyebrow. "Please do not interrupt me, or mine will be wasted effort."

His eyes laughed more and more. "I'll try, wife. But it's hard for me, you know."

"Yes, I know. But I will have understanding."

"Oh God, I thank You twice. So, wife..." - and his blue eyes danced insolent and captivating. - "Do we want to talk about these elven and vulcan ears?"

"Husband..."

T'Pol was no longer able to keep the light tone of their talk. Now, in the end, after... after... her T'hai'la would say _'after much beating around the bush'_ , she had to tell him what she had found and…

And why this disconcerted her so much.

Suddenly his eyes grew serious.

"T'Pol, what have you found?"

T'Pol realized that, quite rightly, the game was over. Her Ashayam's tone, his words, his expression, said it clearly. Now she was again the T'Pol mistress of herself. Thanks to him, she was. It was time to speak for real. With seriousness, the seriousness he deserved.

"Trip..."

He cut her off. He gently took her hand.

"What were you reading, sweetheart?"

Despite everything, the embarrassment caught her again. But she ruled it.

She felt ashamed a little, but walked past it.

"A fable."

"A..."

"A fable."

"You?!"

This time his tone was of genuine surprise, not to say of disbelief.

And T'Pol, this time, felt really irritated.

It was not bad, all things considered, given the difficulty she had to reveal him that she had fallen prey to the disconcertment as a result of reading a fable.

Her irritation helped her to overcome the remaining hindrances, the last embarrassments.

"If I am not mistaken, husband, you said more than once that fables are important, that in them many truths are hidden."

"Yes, but you've always watched me with that your eyebrow of reproach when I told you this."

"Would you say that you resent for the fact that I wanted to pay heed to you?"

"Eh? But ... but no! I wanted to say that..."

"That it is strange that I gave myself to reading of the fables?"

"Well... but... but yes, T'Pol!"

On seeing him, with those beautiful blue eyes wide open in amazement watching her, all irritation of T'Pol suddenly vanished.

After all, he had all good reasons for reacting that way.

From scientific readings to readings of myths and legends, the step was long, but from these to fables... the step was much longer! That was undeniable. Definitely unexpected from her part. But up to a certain point, considering the man with whom she shared her life. A man, her man, everything except devoid of charisma and influence. On everyone and, of course, more than ever on her. When there had been the occasion, it would really have been right for her to strongly emphasize to him the deep impact he had upon her. He would have been proud and she would have been proud of his pride.

And, then, let's face it, once again, although this time by no means intentionally, he, her T'hai'la, had hit the mark. Her last embarrassments had fallen because of the irritation that he had caused her, baring the... unvulcan-like deviation in which she had slipped.

Her T'hai'la was unmatched even when he didn't know to be it!

Her voice softened. She, too, took gently his hand. "T'hai'la, you were right."

He looked at her confused. "I was right?"

"Yes, T'hai'la. About the fables."

He nodded thoughtfully. "It is a fable a little particular, that one, isn't it, T'Pol?"

Uneasiness crept back a little into her. She clenched his hands. "It is... it is very peculiar, Trip."

"Ah."

"I think... I think maybe it would be better that, rather than hearing from me what it narrates, you read it by yourself."

It was Trip to lift his eyebrow, this time.

Mh, no. Wrong again. T'Pol was trying again to get around it. Much as, of course, she had read and re-read that... that fable, when she was at having to talk to him of it, she withdrew.

But what the hell was inside that fable?

Devils of all the hells! Sure, one could understand! The sufferings she had had to endure with that infernal King had been infernal, precisely, and it was unthinkable they hadn't left any mark on her. Not that he had not been seriously tried, not that. Damn it, how he had been marked! At the mere thought he felt come the creeps! He, though, had... weird, isn't it?... more resources than her, even though she had been capable of doing what she had done, with that devilish being.

He was… leathery.

He felt the impulse to snicker with some bitterness, although, of course, he did not.

Oh sure, that he was leathery! Not to say worst. Was it not him, by chance, the one who was the King's… the King's incarnation? _*No! Do not think about it, man!_ *

She, his most beloved vulcan spouse, was not so leathery, had not such a tough skin, however strong her willpower could be. She... she hadn't to share with the King... what he had to share.

And she... oh he, and he alone, was able to know this... she was highly sensitive. She had a very great sensibility. A sensibility that made her much more vulnerable than him.

She was… she was as a wonderful flower. A flower with a strong and robust stem, also thorny if you want, so strong, so robust to be capable of not bending down nor of snapping under the rough blast of the most raging of storms. A stupendous flower, topped with a corolla of marvellous iridescent petals. Magnificent petals, brightly coloured and shiny and shimmery. But extremely delicate, these ones. So delicate that they could fall down for what to others could seem a trifle, nothing more than a very slight gust of wind, exposing this way to the destructive fury of the elements the defenceless and fleshy heart of the stupendous blossom she was.

And all this increased even more the attentions that he had to have for her.

Okay, okay! But in any case, enough now! Whatever there was in that damn fable, she had to stop shutting itself up within her shell.

It was not like her!

Did it happen by his fault? Was it not, by chance, that he, even unwittingly, wielded a bad influence on her?

But... but to him, it didn't seem.

He had told her many times that the influence she wielded over him was beneficial towards his behaviour and his way of being and thinking and she always replied that the same thing happened to her about the influence that - it was obvious, between... ahem... husband and wife - he wielded over her.

And T'Pol never lied. Well... at least not on things of this sort.

Actually the others, fellows and colleagues, probably did not think exactly so about the influence that he had on T'Pol. Not that they said that it was a bad influence, but ... well, yes, well ... they giggled up their sleeves when they noticed certain attitudes or phrases or expressions of T'Pol which reminded a little his attitudes, his phrases, his expressions.

Who knew why? Mah. Mystery.

Not to mention when the reverse happened, when, that is, it was him to remind T'Pol's manners and behaviours.

In these instances, the laughs under moustache were even more evident.

Mystery in the mystery.

But, however it was, T'Pol's current behaviour could not in any case depend on the influence exerted by him on her.

His defect was certainly not that to shilly-shally, in saying or doing. If anything, his defect, and he knew it, was to be too impetuous. But it was a defect very dear to him, because it was a defect that T'Pol liked to… to madness. There was no mistaking, about it, though she always rebuked him for that. Or rather she pretended to do so.

So, he had nothing to do with the current attitude of T'Pol.

Then there was more.

Oh, for the devil! But really! What the hell there was in that damn fable?

Well, to hell! It was time to put an end.

And T'Pol had to stop beating around the bush!

She had to be her!

The magnificent flower she was, was entrusted to him; for him that stupendous corolla flaunted its colours; for him, and only for him, it opened up in all its dazzling beauty.

He had to preserve that wonderful corolla, that unique and peerless flower.

It was more than a duty. It was a mission.

It was the purpose of his life.

And if, to fulfil this purpose, he sometimes had to impose himself, then it was necessary for him to do it.

 _*A fable, huh? All right. So then, be it so! A fable through and through!_

He inhaled sharply and forcefully and narrowed his eyes with a hard face, under the confused look and… but yes… even a little cowed of T'Pol.

He let go of her hands and turned on his heel neither saying yay nor nay.

Disoriented, T'Pol saw him reach the divan, stopping in front of it and then turn around to face her.

She did not understand. And did not understand at all the mischievous glint shining in his eyes and the expression even more than mischievous showing off on his face.

He was smiling. A little... it was hard to express how... halfway between crafty and determined?

It was... indecipherable.

He made a sweeping gesture with his arm, going from indicating her to indicating the sofa. And still with that unfathomable, cryptic smile printed on his face.

"Get the damn gizmo on which it's recorded that damn fable and come here."

His voice was soft, but his tone was of command and T'Pol fully realized it was not opportune to disobey, or, even less, to kick up a fuss, wanting to resort to the very fitting way of expressing of her husband.

There were times when she did not have to lay questions, neither to anyone nor to herself, but only obey.

And not because she was his property. The conjugal iron law of Vulcan had nothing to do with that.

She had long since learned that when he had this attitude towards her it was because he… he could not do anything else with her than command her.

An infinite number of things had changed since she had set foot on _Enterprise_.

Would anyone have thought that _Enterprise_ would become her home? The house that she loved?

Would anyone have thought that that house would be the house that she would share with the man with whom she now shared her life?

Would anyone have thought that this man would be him? Her beloved Adun?

Her Trip?

And would anyone have thought that the woman, tough and proud, the vulcan female without cracks, who had refused to shake hands with him, knowing... knowing in her heart what others couldn't know and could not even imagine... namely that if in that moment she had accepted that hand, she, from that moment, would have been what she inevitably, fatally, had later become - His woman, his wife. _His spouse_. - …well then, would anyone have thought that that woman, strong and sure and disdainful, capable of commanding men and things... that woman would have needed him, her Adun, also... also to be guided by him?

No one would have thought it would have been so.

And yet it was so.

She was his woman, his wife. His spouse.

And sometimes she needed to be guided, to be commanded, even, by him.

And he knew it.

But the fact was that it was not a command.

It was an act of love.

And she knew it.

There had been times in the past, in which he hadn't imposed himself on her.

And both had severely atoned for his mistake of giving up on asserting himself on her.

She… well yes… she needed his authority.

She needed not only that he loved her, but that he proved it with authority; that he knew impose himself on her, if necessary, with authority. With the authority that stemmed from his love for her.

Most likely she would have the greatest difficulties to admit this loudly and strongly.

But she knew it.

And she wanted it.

 _Her katra knew it._

And wanted it.

She tended to toss and turn in her troubles. At one time it was not so. At the time of the certainties without questions. At the time of the hushed and blind stillness when she was only and merely a small cogwheel in the gear train of Vulcan.

She was no longer a small cogwheel.

She was a woman.

A true woman.

Conscious.

Free.

Free to love.

And free to toss and turn in her troubles.

And free to cling to him, to her lighthouse, to pull herself out of her troubles.

Free to obey him.

She could not do it.

And she could do it.

She was free, now.

Free to love him.

Obeying him?

And why not do it, since she was free not to do so?

And why not do it, since it was nothing but his love for her to push him to impose himself over her, knowing - both - that she needed sometimes to be commanded by him to get out of the fears and apprehensions that she did not know how to deal with?

Like now.

Yes. - T'Pol's heart swelled of warmth. - Her katra was not mistaken.

His was a wonderful act of love.

To which she could not but obey.

She was not even fully aware of all this.

But her katra was.

And her katra obeyed.

Without hesitation and without uttering a single word, T'Pol took the… gizmo to which he was referring and, with that in hand, he walked quickly to him.

She stopped right in front of him and, with the padd tight on her chest, watched him with questioning eyes.

Waiting.

For the next command.

Which was not long in coming.

"Sit down."

A curt command; peremptory.

And yet ... and yet...

T'Pol perceived it clearly; there was no need of the Bond, to feel it.

There was, in that command, something infinitely affectionate, infinitely tender. Just as in his eyes. And in his smile.

Ironic; mischievous. That was true.

Yet unfathomably sweet.

And enigmatic.

T'Pol realized that he was using one of the weapons that he had learned to use so well with her.

He was stimulating her curiosity

She was curious.

Terribly curious.

Curious... he would say... like a woman.

And about the fact that she was a woman, a _true_ woman...

A strange pride peeped out inside her.

She had once heard Hoshi say that a true woman, what she now was and knew to be, has no need to command the man she loves and who loves her. A look, a nod, a gesture, even a silence on her part – had said Hoshi - and he obeys, without even knowing that he is executing an order of her.

She, away from the eyes of Hoshi and of those with whom she was speaking, had raised her eyebrow with puzzlement, but now… after all had occurred – after all had occurred between her and her T'hai'la - …now she was aware of what Hoshi had meant. And that Hoshi was absolutely right. Because what she had said was exactly what constantly happened between her and Trip.

T'Pol was perfectly conscious of that.

A look, a nod, a gesture, even a silence on her part... and her every wish, even unconscious, became an order to be fulfilled without fail on his part.

She did not need to give him orders, to impose herself on him in their personal lives, in their lives such as husband and wife. Of course, this would have been impossible. She was, in all respects, his _ko-telsu_ , his wife. His vulcan wife. She was his property. Well before and for reasons far more profound than those resulting from what had incredibly happened, from what had sealed forever the fate of Koss at the hands of her Champion. Of Trip. **(()** **)**

It was something of her Vulcanity which she could not or maybe it was fairer to say she did not want to give up. Lot of things of her culture she had left behind her shoulders, partly because she had grown within, partly for the love she felt for her Ashayam. But that thing, no. That was a thing which she did not want to give up. She wanted to be his!

It was a constant thought in her, this one, because ... because gratified her. Just like that. Pleased her. It made it that she could touch with her hand that their path, _her own path_ \- hard and difficult - had ended. Happily. HAPPILY! In spite of everything. In spite even of herself!

She had become his woman. She had become his wife. Not by human or vulcan rituals, by human or vulcan ceremonials, but by something much higher. By the love that bound them to each other into the supreme tie of the Bond. She was ... oh Surak! How couldn't this not be supremely pleasant? Supremely satisfying? ... she was his property because she was his wife. HIS WIFE! HIS VULCAN WIFE!

And in those moments, in those so peculiar circumstances, in which she felt emerge, uncertainties and fears that only he could soothe, the thought, _that_ thought - _**she was his!**_ \- was inevitably recurring. It was rampant!

Oh yes, She was his. His property. As a perfect vulcan wife had to be. And so… _**never**_ she would have dreamed of giving him orders. Oh well. _**True**_ orders, to put it exactly.

But in any case she hadn't the slightest need to do so. Not even remotely she could come to find herself in the situation of giving him whichever command in the context of their life together, of their privacy, in the way, as it seemed, that sometimes, not to say often, the wife did with the husband, at least among Humans, according to what her husband in fact amused himself to tell her, narrating scenes from the life of his parents that, of course, were not minimally reflected in what little of the married life of her own parents of which she was in knowledge. Although, to be honest, he did not speak willingly of his parents. It seemed… it seemed that with the death of his sister all ties with his family had been severed.

Watch out, though. The fact that she did not have to give orders to him... this did not come from the obvious assumption that, for her, from her vulcan point of view, it was merely something inconceivable. Simply he, her beloved T'hai'la, made it so that such a possibility couldn't arise.

Never.

 _Because her every wish, also unspoken, for him, for her Ashayam, was… was an order! Just like that! An order from which he didn't shrink._

 _ **Never.**_

Grumbling, sometimes, not to say always. Becoming sombre. Complaining. With furious debates between them, even, but, in the end, doing always what she wanted or desired and, perhaps, only for the pleasure he had - the same pleasure, honestly, she too felt - in arguing with her, in... in making her ears intensely green for annoyance; maybe even just for the pleasure to hear her reprimand him, not to say, even, for the pleasure to give her the pleasure to be able to reprimand him.

From the outside it was rather difficult to notice it. Even their closest friends could have some difficulties. Hoshi, perhaps. And maybe Phlox. Maybe even the Captain, when he managed not to think only of himself. And definitely Malcolm. He spoke little, but understood a lot. They, perhaps, could realize what really lurked in their bickering, so...so loved by all. She was well aware of this. And... and she liked that others had fun witnessing their bickerings.

It was... it was nice. It made her feel part of their world. The world of her beloved.

The beloved who loved her so much to catch sight of her every wish and turn it into his own will even before she could express it.

To such an extent he loved her.

To the point of having been able to make her not only a woman free to love him, but, simply and deeply, _a woman_.

And a woman free to be curious just such as a woman.

Just like now.

Was it a trap?

One of the usual unexpected traps that he knew so well how to set to her and where she invariably fell? With hidden delicious pleasure? And... Well, yes... that she too had learned to set to him in their wonderful game of love? Known only to them?

Was that it?

A trap?

Maybe. Indeed it was for sure. But who cared? It was a trap of love and she knew it.

And she threw herself headlong into this trap.

She sat down immediately, without letting herself be told twice the command.

He looked at her from his standing position.

His inscrutable smile became satisfied, without losing any of its impenetrability, nor, even less, of its crafty appearance.

Nor of its undeniable, soft gentleness.

He nodded. "Very good."

What a smug voice! And... what else was there in the tone of that voice? And in his expression? What was the trap that her Ashayam had prepared for her?

Suddenly he lowered, bending one knee and setting down the other on the ground, so that his face was at the same height of hers.

With one arm resting on the knee not placed on the ground, he watched her with laughing eyes.

He wagged a finger at her.

"Now open well your ears, wife, just as I opened mine before."

She nodded without saying a word.

"So ..." His finger pointed at the padd that she still kept close to her bosom. "... is that a fable?"

She nodded again.

"Okay. Now answer me, wife. Do you know how it is that, on Earth, kids learn the fables? Their ..." - He chuckled softly - "... their inherent truth?

She shook her head.

"I'll tell you. They do not read the fables on their own; the fables are read to them."

T'Pol's eyes widened. She began to understand. He wanted her to...

"Now, you'll read me that fable."

T'Pol tried to speak. "But… but you do not ..."

He laughed out loud. "I'm not a baby? Oh, somehow I am, my dear wife! You say this to me so often! You always tell me that I'm childlike."

"Y… yes. But ..."

"So then, you'll read me that fable. As one does with a child."

T'Pol attempted again to speak. "But I ..."

No way. He ignored her completely. "Ah, it will be wonderful."

He stood up. He laughed aloud, his eyes almost dreamy.

He stopped laughing. He looked back at her, whose eyes looked at him from below, frowning and uncertain.

"Yes, it will be wonderful, wife. It will remind me of when it was my mother to read me the fables."

 _His mother?_ At that statement, T'Pol finally managed to say something complete. "I'm not your mother, Trip!"

He burst out laughing. "Actually, no!"

He leaned over her. He took her face in his hands. He rubbed his lips over hers, which certainly did not elude that soft caress. "You're not my mother, T'Pol, my wifey."

He broke away his mouth from hers and smiled on her face. "Fortunately, you're not." He became suddenly serious. His fingers gently caressed her cheeks. "You are my wife."

T'Pol felt almost suffocate by the fervent gentle sound of his words. She closed her eyes, while his rough, warm, delicate fingers continued their magic on her cheeks. She heard her voice, that - low, dreamy, sighing - came out by its own will from her mouth. "I am your wife."

His laughter made her open her eyes.

They alighted on his.

He stood staring at her for a moment without speaking. With those his blue eyes which laughed.

Then he straightened. He stretched out his arm toward her and pointed his finger at her, with resolute and peremptory doing.

"Just so. You are my wife. My _vulcan_ wife. So then ..." He smiled slyly. "So then you are my property."

"I ..."

"Not so, wife?"

"I... I…"

"Hey! It was you who told me that you are my property! And also that little question of no account that I have had to face with the dear Koss basically brought to the same conclusion. It has ratified, I believe, this truth. Or maybe it is not the truth? Do you maybe mean to tell me that you lied? **(()** **)**

"No! Vulcans don't… _I haven't lie!_ "

"Good. So you're my property, right?"

"R… right."

"Okay. So you can not disobey my commands."

"I..."

"You can or you can not?"

"I ... No. I can not."

"And do you want to obey my commands?"

"I ... I ..."

"Do you want to do it, wife?"

"I ... I ... I..."

"Do you want or don't you want?"

"Yyyy… yes. I want to obey your commands."

"Ah well. So, obey, my wifey. Read me that goddamn fable."

"But… but..."

"Obey!"

T'Pol was left speechless. That was an order. A true order! It was not one of those fictitious orders with which he liked to point out that she, the scornful vulcan female who had kept him so long... so long in dance, behold, was now, according to the unwritten law of Vulcan, his property. And it was different from the commands that he gave her some moment ago. It was... it was harsh! Much as peremptory the earlier ones had been or, rather, had appeared, this command was really peremptory! It was an imperative order! It was a command that commanded her to obey!

Was he testing her? Did he want to probe her? After having brought inexorably her to say everything, to admit bluntly that not only she was his property, which was already established, even if not so patently and openly, but also that she had to obey his orders, that she _wanted_ to obey his orders? But why? There was no need to do so to get her to do what he desired. There was no need.

There was no…

Suddenly, T'Pol understood.

Maybe... maybe there was a need. Maybe it was necessary that he commanded her for real, to allow her... to force her... to overcome the impasse from which she didn't manage to get out. She would continue to toss and turn in her uncertainties, stupid uncertainties, to put it like him - she was conscious of that - but from which, however, she had very serious difficulties to evade. It was... it was her own habit, she couldn't deny it. And...and even now, she was doing the same thing. And he had fully understood. And so… so he had decided at last to command her to give it… the expression was… to give it a cut.

Relying on his right to command over her.

Even that... yes ... even that was love.

And... and...

For the first time T'Pol felt fully the truth. In all its crudeness. And in all its arcane beauty.

And she had to obey him.

It was not a fairy tale that she belonged to him. It was not a mere assertion, a hyperbolic metaphor of her love for him.

Her ancestral heritage made itself felt powerful within her, how she would never have believed it could be. If ever there could have been some doubt that, by and in the millennial law of Vulcan, she was his woman, this doubt, now, couldn't do anything but get completely dissolved into thin air.

 _She... had to obey._

It was so. And she wanted it.

Perhaps, as far as it was known, for the first time after a very long time a vulcan woman was coming again to find herself face to face with her true essence, with the heart of her being a vulcan woman. This… this was amazing. But even more amazing was that this arcane, ancestral imperative, deep-seated in the profound heart of the vulcan breed, was making feel its mighty voice again, in all its imperiousness, to a woman of this breed with regard… with regard _not_ to a vulcan man, but to a _human_ man, the same human man with whom, then, the same vulcan woman had astonishingly revived the fabled vulcan Bond.

And that woman...

Pride! Endless pride! Incredible, wasn't it? Yet it was so!

 _... That woman was her!_

She nodded. Serious. Determined.

"As you command, husband. You command and I obey."

This time it was the turn of Trip's eyes to snap open wide.

Gosh! What ... what had she said?

He could not hold back himself. "What ... what did you say, T'Pol?"

T'Pol remained unruffled at all. "I said _As you command, husband. Y…".'_ "

"Ah here. It seemed to me."

"… _You command and I obey."_

"Okay, okay! No need to repeat everything! I understood!"

T'Pol looked at him with raised eyebrow.

One had to say that his expression was beyond price. His astonishment, because this was obvious, at hearing her assert her obedience to him in that way, was... well yes ... it was funny. Funny? Surak! That damn of her husband had really entered under her skin, to put it like him! Yet she could not deny it. For Surak's sake! She had just made full profession of obedience to her husband and, instead of feeling at the very least upset because of this admission, she not only felt proud for having done so - to... to hell with her Vulcan heritage! - but, in addition, she found even funny his stunned expression at hearing her act of submission... because, well, it was just this... her act of submission to him.

But there was a reason, of which she was well aware, which was not simply that _the ways of the amusement were infinite_ , as her facetious husband was in the habit of saying.

The real reason was that her act of submission, her recognizing that she had to obey him, it was not an act of submission to a vulcan male. And that entailed a huge amount of consequences. And – _frankly?_ \- all of them pleasant.

Being subdued to a vulcan male... being brought by her own nature to obey him ... this ... this ... T'Pol once would have never believed she could nourish such a thought, and instead now, she was happy to have it… this would have been intolerable for her.

But her master-husband was not a vulcan male. It was Trip. _**Her**_ Trip.

Who never would have dreamed of wanting her to be submissive to him!

Who was even amazed that she could have uttered that phrase. _'As you command, husband.'_

Who had even trouble at hearing again her act of submission as a whole; who did not want her to complete it, to repeat also the second claim. _'You command and I obey'_.

Who considered her as the very source of his own will!

There was no doubt about that.

Who simply wanted to assert his right over her to shake her, to… to take her off the hook. This, it was!

And even on this there could be no doubt whatsoever.

T'Pol felt within herself something... something… something difficult to define... something at the same time warm and... _but yes_... _funny_. Because funny, for her who, unlike the others of her breed, now was able to understand what the fun was, _really_ funny in hindsight it was the very essence of such an occurrence, namely her act of submission to her Trip.

An ironic twist of fate, he would have said, and honestly he would not have been wrong.

And from many points of view, first of all that the woman who professed her obedience to him, it was _her_. The same woman who... who had driven him mad, just so, and who ... who - T'Pol felt a surge of shame - sometimes had even humiliated him. The same woman who, in a sense, had embezzled to him the command of what, to want to be truly correct, was up to him to command in the absence or in the event of unavailability of the Captain. _Enterprise_.

And now - really a twist of fate - that woman, while being perfectly aware, like him, that the baton of command was neither in hers nor in his hands but in the hands of their love, well then, however that woman gave him - **formally** \- the command of something far more important than _Enterprise_. Their lives.

But there was another twist of fate, and much greater.

How else to define the fact that what the other vulcan females would find, to say the least, unbecoming, if not reprehensible, and namely being wives - _property_ \- not of a vulcan male, but of a human male, was instead the way towards freedom?

She was free! Something that certainly the other vulcan females were not. Oh sure! She had to obey. She felt she had to do it.

But the astonishment itself of her beloved human husband was clear evidence that he would have never expected that she would.

And most importantly, he would never have taken advantage of this power if it were not necessary to do so. If it were not necessary to make her free even from the illogical uncertainties she felt every time she had to face what logical was not.

Like now.

What other vulcan female could ever enjoy such a... such a fortune?

What other vulcan female could ever rely on a husband who, rather than taking advantage of his power over her, used this power to make her free? Totally free?

And ... and then ... what other vulcan female could ever experience the... the fun she felt now, in this beautiful game of love?

No vulcan male would ever have been able to make her understand the essence of the fun.

 _Or maybe, quite simply, no vulcan male could ever have been able to be for her what, for her, it was her Trip._

 **The love of her life.**

And if this life, then, could be fun... so much the better!

So then... _*Come on, T'Pol!*_ . It could be funny, after all, being an _'obedient'_ wife.

"You look surprised, husband. Why?"

"I? Surprised? But... but no! Simply ..."

T'Pol laid it on thick.

"I am your property, right? You yourself have just reminded this to me. And, in fact, it's so. Consequently, I have to obey you, just as you've rightly pointed out to me that I must do."

"Of... of course. Sure."

T'Pol piled it on even more.

"My will is yours, husband. As it has to be."

"Ah… oh… sure. No… noteworthy."

And T'Pol pushed on the accelerator a little bit more.

"And for me it is a pleasure performing whatever command you may desire to give me, husband."

"Ah… uh… good."

"Are you not happy about this, my husband and lord?"

"Hu... husband and lord?"

"Sure. I belong to you. I'm your property. This is now an established fact, just as it is an established fact that I, as a consequence, must obey you. The logical outcome of this logical reasoning is that you are my husband and lord. Don't you think it is right?"

"Oh sure. Sure. Of course."

Yes. It was fun. It was as if he had been wrong-footed – words of him - in his own game; as if he had trouble to realize that her profession of submission and obedience to him could be substantial, as well as formal; he, even, appeared to have great trouble to realize - and to accept - that she had said what she had said. Sure, she had already told him this on other occasions; sure one could not forget what had happened between him and Koss. **(()** **)** But now, as a consequence of the same game he had started, not only she, but he too had to touch with hand the profound truth of what she had just told him… _solemnly_. And that - funny, isn't it? - _wrong-footed_ him, and absolutely not her.

Well, it was comprehensible. All this was part of her world, not of his. And for him, then, for the gentleman - just like that! - for the gentleman he was also with respect to human parameters, it was inconceivable.

And, in the end, to what did all this bring? To the fact that, though it was totally true what she was saying, he, her beloved husband and lord, had no intention of being so. Nor, even less, he was able to fully realize that he was her husband and lord for real. He appeared not only surprised, but sheepish and uncomfortable, even annoyed, despite being him, after all, the one who had uncovered the pot. Very nice, this colourful expression of him. Really fitting. Like... a glove. Nice… and _funny_.

Anyway, this - his reaction to her profession of submission and obedience - spoke volumes, more than remarkably. And it spoke volumes also with regard to her being his property.

She was.

But not because it was him to want it.

She was because it was her to want it.

And though she was telling the truth, nevertheless it would have been definitely nice – funny, just as he had taught her that things could be - to make fun of him, in that new pleasant development of their game of love.

A "property" that teased its master.

Priceless!

On her lips hovered the shadow of an amused and satisfied and smug smile.

And this was a big mistake.

Because he understood.

A wide smile - accompanied by a twinkle of mischievousness in his eyes, there was not to go wrong - appeared on his face.

He nodded in turn.

"Okay. Very good. Things are clear now. You are my property, my will is your own and you have to obey whichever my command. With pleasure, also, from what you tell me."

The smile grew even wider, as his eyes sparkled - let's be frank – more than mischievously. It could be said… perfidiously.

"So, let's see that the implementation of this peculiar command of mine on your part may be really a pleasure."

Pointless to deny that T'Pol's eyes became quite worried. As always it had taken him a few seconds to grasp the situation and she had learned from personal experience that there was nothing to rest easy with him. Just not at all.

Another trap was ready for her.

And, once again, she would have fallen into it... head over heels.

He nodded again, to her, but also and even more so to himself. Then he chuckled. And T'Pol felt a familiar chill run down her spine.

She knew that chuckle.

Shortly afterwards, she would have remained snared in one of his perfidious - _delicious_ \- traps of love!

"My dear _'property'_ , if it has to be a pleasure, be it a pleasure." He chortled again. "Let's see to get comfortable."

Under T'Pol's gaze, that defining confused would be an understatement, he sat down in a flash on the couch beside her and, very quickly, without giving her time to understand what he wanted to do, he lay down in belly up, legs stretched out and ankles crossed, his hands clasped comfortably on his chest and his head resting comfortably on her lap.

"Trip! What ..."

He laughed softly. "Do not you like me to stay so, wife? My mother always made lean my head on her lap, when she read me a fable."

T'Pol, this time, became really vexed. "Trip! I told you that ..."

"That you're not my mother, I know. And I told you that I am perfectly aware of that and that fortunately you're not. Thank God you're not! Otherwise, how could you do with me what you do? "He winked at her."I mean, not exactly what a mother does with her son."

T'Pol felt it coming. But she could not do anything. She could not prevent her ears from becoming intensely green. If her blood had been red, like that of Humans, it would have been obvious to anyone that her ears had turned red.

His amused laugh made her ears become even greener. She felt their tips burn. Not to mention her cheeks.

All of a sudden his hand shot out as it had already done previously and, as before, his fingers gripped with sweet force the tip of one of her ears, so green.

"And besides, my wife, it is not possible to get confused." He laughed mockingly. "My mother did not have these beautiful pointed ears."

T'Pol's hand grabbed that impertinent hand of him and pulled it away forcefully from her ear. Her eyes flashed. "Husband! Do not try it! If you want me to execute your command, do not try it!"

He looked at her from below, from his comfortable position, with his head softly resting on her lap. The smirk made again its appearance on his face. "Hey, my submissive property, am I wrong, or it's me the one who's supposed has to give orders?"

"It's you, but you must put me in condition to comply your orders!"

"Ah, sure. Logical." He chuckled again. "All right, all right. Understood." He winked again at her. "Would you be kind enough to let go my hand? I won't try anymore." Another wink. "At least for now."

T'Pol said nothing, thinking instead a lot. About his words. She freed his hand and watched him in silence as he intertwined it again with the other to lean comfortably on his abdomen.

Then, as if he had been struck by a sudden thought ... "Hey, T'Pol! When you say that you can not help but execute all my commands, and with pleasure too, do you mean really all of them?"

T'Pol felt a premonitory tingling at her ears. "Y... yes. Sure. All."

"Ah. Even some _peculiar_ command in some _peculiar_ situation?"

The tingling changed again into a rich green. "More than… than I've already done?"

He laughed aloud. "Well, you know. In this respect human imagination has no limits."

"I... I think it is you the Human who has no limits in this regard."

"Do you think?"

"I think."

"Mh. Fine. I do not know how you can state this, though. Do you have any touchstone?"

"No! You ... you know I do not have it!"

"Ah yes. So I take it as a compliment. Anyway, if I may say, it seems to me that you too have really few limits in this regard, my dear wife."

Damn it. How could it be possible to soothe a little the burning sensation caused by the turbulent rush of her blood up to her ears?

"It is... ahem… it is because my will can not help but follow yours, my husband and lord."

"Ah, that's why."

"Sure."

"Mh, okay." There could be a more mischievous expression than the one he showed at that moment? "I'll keep this in mind for the next times."

T'Pol was sure that her ears were becoming phosphorescent.

"Do not... do not take advantage of your power over your wife, my husband and lord. Please."

Oh Surak! She had to think better of it. Much as it could appear definitely hardly credible, in reality it was truly possible for her indescribable T'hai'la to take on an even more mischievous expression. In fact he was doing it.

"Are you sure you do not want me to take advantage of it, wife?"

Okay. Now she was sure. Her ears could not but be decidedly green-phosphorescent.

"No. That is to say yes. Ie no. Ie..."

"Ie?"

"Take advantage, my husband!"

His laughter rolled everywhere on her, ending up its gallop into her ears and going to titillate them impudently and deliciously; and making her so think even more acutely of how they had to appear of an intense bright green. Maybe they could even be able to illuminate the environment.

His laughter subsided slowly, as well as the pleasant sensation of the movement of his body upon her knees while he laughed.

At the end only his gaze remained, mischievous and sweet.

And his sweet weight on her lap.

He raised his hand. His fingers gently stroked her cheek.

"Well, enough now, my wife. We clarified a lot of things. It is time for you to prove the truth of what you say."

He withdrew his hand and placed it back on his abdomen, intertwined with the other.

"See? My hands are firm." He laughed softly. "Your ears are safe."

He raised his eyebrow in _her_ own way, and laughed softly in _his_ own way.

"You have no more excuses, wife. Now, you just have to execute my order." He closed his eyes. "With closed eyes. This way one can focus better, while listening." Another chuckle. "The ears open up better."

T'Pol stood looking at him without speaking.

He was handsome.

And was gorgeous inside.

He had ensnared her.

He had trapped her.

And had dispelled all the shadows that were in her.

Bewilderment?

Embarrassment?

Apprehension?

Fears?

Empty words.

There was none of this.

There was his love for her

And hers for him.

The rest ... it was nothing.

And... and it would be marvellous to read that baffling and beautiful fable to her wonderful, eternal child.

But she was not his mother.

Oh no! Definitely not!

She was his adored wife who adored him.

She was his property

And she would be this forever.

Like forever he would be hers.

"Hey!" His eyes snapped open. They looked at her with a warmth that would have been able to melt the ice of Andoria. "So what? I'm waiting, my sweet better half. One should not make wait the children, even those a little too grown up, like me. You know, it can be traumatic. Children are very sensitive."

Children?

T'Pol did not even know how such a thought could be born within her. But it was born. And maybe, after all... her hand squeezed the padd where there was the fable she had read and re-read and that now she would have to read to him... after all, she knew why.

Children.

One day... one day she would give a child to that wonderful child a little too grown up, would make him the father of the fruit of their love.

Yes. Somehow she would. An unexpected and unsought daughter had gone before they could give her the love that was owed to her. Together the two of them had managed to overcome that pain and the daughter, who had not had time to love them, had nevertheless given them the greatest gift, a true gift of love.

She had united them. Forever.

And he, just he, the Human apparently less strong than her, had picked up the shards of her soul, had gathered them together, had reassembled them and glued them together. Had made disappear even the signs of the fractures between shard and shard.

He was a wonderful child. A wonderful man. A wonderful lover.

A wonderful husband.

And would be a wonderful father.

She would make him a father.

And not only of a single child. - T'Pol's heart smiled at the memory. - Just as he wished, just as they, on one marvellous day… _on one marvellous night_ … had planned together. Playfully. Merrily. Joyfully. **(** **)**

It was a promise.

"T'Pol!" This time his voice sounded worried. He had lifted the trunk and was watching preoccupied her. "T'Pol, sweetheart! Are you ok? What's happening to you? Why that look lost?"

T'Pol shook herself from her thoughts. "I'm fine, I'm fine, T'hai'la. Do not worry."

Concern did not abandon his eyes. "Do I have to believe it?"

"Yes, really. It is... is that I was thinking."

He raised his eyebrow again. "Mh. I should not be amazed. You think all the time. But ... prithee, what were you thinking of so important to absorb your attention to such an extent, right now?"

"I... was thinking about children."

"Children?"

"Yes. This fable… speaks of children."

"Of... children?"

"Yes. Children... very special." She took on a strange expression. "Like those we could have. You and me."

He stayed silent for a moment. His expression became intent. His brows furrowed.

"Mh." He spoke softly. "I think it's worth that I listen very carefully to this fable. Is it so, T'Pol?"

"Yes. It's so, Trip."

"Come on then. At this point I..." He smiled. As only he knew how to do. He dissipated her last disquietudes. As only he knew how to do. "I am jumping out of my skin."

Her eyes smiled, happy.

She put her hand on his chest. She pushed down him.

"Stay down, Ashayam, as you were before. And close your eyes again."

He carried out.

He heard her voice, sounding unequivocally sweet and warm.

"Here. Exactly so. In the way you surprised me. I love that you remain so, my husband and lord. It is pleasant. It will make even greater the pleasure that I'll feel..." It seemed like she were laughing softly, in the way own of him. And maybe it was really so. "... that I'll feel in executing your order."

Trip said nothing. He stood absolutely still and silent. Even, he unconsciously held his breath.

Waiting.

For a moment longer, T'Pol stood watching him.

His face, virile and handsome.

His mouth, well-made and strong-willed.

His golden hair.

His closed eyelids which hid the beautiful blue of his eyes.

His closed eyelids which prevented him from seeing the wide smile that broadened out on her face.

T'Pol shook herself.

She brought the padd close to her face, at the right distance from her eyes, so that she could read.

Her other hand, as her eyes got focused on her reading's opening words, went down, without her even realizing it, on his head, to fiddle with a wayward blond curl.

In the silence and in the dim light of the room, just lit by the soft lamp of the meditation candles, T'Pol began to read.

* * *

 _ **End of Chapter Two**_

 _ **TBC**_

 **OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO**

 _Oh oh!_

 _Elves, Vulcans, ears and children!_

 _A lot of stuff, my friends!_

 _What do you say? Do we go on?_

* * *

 **(** **)** _Ahem… Do you remember, my friends, my_ _ **"Bikini"**_ _?_

 **(()** **)** _Curious, my friends? But what is Asso alluding to? you'll wonder. Be assured. If, as I hope, you will continue to read my stories, you'll know. And in the most unexpected way. Just like that. Just like Koss had to pay dearly for his squalid, lousy behaviour with T'Pol in the most unexpected way._


	3. The Ears of the Elves - Chapter Three

**The Ears of the Elves**

 **By Asso**

 **Chapter Three**

* * *

 _I'm back here, my friends, with the third chapter of this story._

 _Once more my incorrigible Muse forced me down this path._

 _I beg you to understand me, my friends and readers. I know that other stories are waiting to be continued, but so it is. I have no way out from my Muse (who, however, assured me that she will want also to assist me in continuing the other stories)._

 _This is a short chapter, I dare say of connection, but I like it and I hope you too enjoy it._

 _Let me give you once again the recommendation that opened this story._

 _Certainly, you can also read this story without knowing "In the Hall of The Mountain King" (which, moreover, is work in progress). However, much of what is present in this story finds its reason for being in that other, in "In the Hall of the Mountain King"_ _._

 _And, the icing on the cake, once again my innate narcissism plays its part._

 _In the previous chapter I referred to my story "Bikini". Here you will find a reference to another of my stories: "Shore Leave"._

 _Well, damn! Sometimes I think I'm worse Trip._

 _But I know I can count on your understanding, an understanding - I I'm sure - even bigger than that of T'Pol towards her Trip._

 _Happy reading, my friends._

 _I just hope that it may be a read well welcomed by you all._

 _Oh, one more little thing, my friends._

 _This is a chapter for aficionados. You have to know a little of the TV show to appreciate some hints that can be found in it._

 _But... eh but..._

 _It is not strictly necessary._

 _Again good reading, my friends and readers._

* * *

 **The Ears of the Elves**

 **Chapter Three**

 **oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo**

"Geez! What an atmosphere, guys!"

"Do you like it, T'hai'la?"

T'Pol's voice could not help but show a clear note of amusement. She had expected it. Her T'hai'la would have undoubtedly appreciated the opening of the fable and, on the other hand, she too had to admit it. In a few lines the anonymous author or perhaps, more simply, the drafter of that fabulous story had been able to create an ... yes, her Trip was absolutely right ... an atmosphere. Before... before the action would explode. And would show itself at full. Swiftly. In all its rawness.

In all its cruelty.

Trip's head moved blithely on T'Pol's lap. "Well, sweetie! Per force. You know I love such things."

T'Pol's fingers twisted gently, by their own will, Trip's rebellious curl that just did not want to stand in its place. "Do you mean things such as those strange miniatures of improbable little freaks that make a not exactly nice show of themselves in the display case that you've wanted to affix on one of the walls of our room?"

Trip snorted. "Oh come on, T'Pol! Stop it. Everyone has his weaknesses. And, since I'm a Human, my sweetheart, my weaknesses are illogical." He winked. "You know, you should have thought twice before giving in to my blandishments. In taking me, you would have inevitably also taken all my illogical human weaknesses."

T'Pol nodded gravely. "I know." But her voice had an unmistakable tone of cheerfulness very little vulcan. "And I pondered carefully about that, but in the end, after thorough evaluation of the pros and cons, I believe I have not made a bad choice."

Trip laughed softly. "Ah well."

The tone of cheerfulness in T'Pol's voice changed. It became... difficult to express it... it became... yes... it became almost broken with emotion. "And then, after all... after all, T'hai'la, you too have taken me along with all my weaknesses." The emotion in T'Pol's voice grew blatant. Her hand stopped torturing Trip's curl. It moved to gently caress his forehead. "Indeed you've done more. You've taken charge of all my weaknesses, Ashayam."

Trip snorted again, looking at T'Pol a little askance. "Oh and enough, T'Pol! Are you going to roll around forever in the regret for the errors that you think you have committed?"

"That I think?"

"Yes, that you think. And you think wrong. They have not been errors, T'Pol; they have been clumsy attempts on the part of one who, like you, was not in possession of any useful tool in the... can we say _slightly peculiar_ circumstances?... in which you came to see you. You just did not know what and how to do, my vulcan doll without experience of love." A warm smile bloomed on his face. "Your journey... _our_ journey has been long and arduous. You..." He chuckled. "...you've made a nice lot of messes before realizing that the older version of you was right when she told you... how did you tell me that she told you? Ah yes." His face grew sly and proud at the same time. _"Trip can be an outlet for these feelings if you'll trust him. The emotions he stirred in me were powerful and frightening. I tried to push him away. If Enterprise hadn't been stranded in the past it's possible I never would have married Trip, but I can't imagine what my life would have been like without him."_

"You... have truly a good memory, T'hai'la."

Trip's expression became even more cunning. "If there is something that is worth remembering."

Then, suddenly, his face became wrathful. "I, though, have been no less so, I mean about behaving like a fool. If I had tried to impose myself a little more, I mean if I... if I... - but yes! - if I had not respected you a little too much, even to the point to appear even weak…"

"You are not weak!"

"…if I had decided a little first to reveal to you all the love I felt for you, maybe our journey would have been a little less long and arduous."

His expression softened with the same speed with which before it had grown angry. "But, damnit, T'Pol, sweet little wife in fact! Look at what a splendid result at the end we have been capable of achieving!"

"It is... it is true, Ashayam. But we have achieved it because you have wanted to take charge of me; because, in spite of all my denials, hesitations, waverings, reluctances..." T'Pol looked down. "... lies... you, in the end, have not pulled back."

T'Pol's eyes got up and looked at Trip filled with gratitude and love. "You, despite all this, have accepted, _have wanted_ to be the… _the_ _outlet for the feelings_ I had allowed to get hold of me without me being able to dominate them."

T'Pol's gaze caressed the features of her Adun. "Yes, it is true that you were and are the primary source of these emotions, it is true that I have done... what I have done... with the Trellium D because I did not know how to fill the chasm that, in my confused mind, I thought that separated you from me. But I've done this. This and... other things. But you have not stepped back, despite having every reason to do so, when finally I surrendered to the awareness that you were... you are... my only hope. When I have entrusted my whole self in your hands."

T'Pol's light fingers flowed delicately on her Ashayam's face. "And now without you I'd be lost. Completely. But not because those emotions… not because I… I can control them – and enjoy them! - only thanks to you. _Only in you_. Not because of that. Or, better, not only because of that. This is only one of the reasons, and, while important, it is certainly not the most important."

T'Pol's hand dived in the golden hair of her Adun. It sank happy into its softness. "It's because…" T'Pol made it. It was always very difficult for her to say that word, although on other occasions she had done it, driven by the feeling that she felt for her Adun, but she made it again. And besides, how could she express otherwise what she meant? "… because of your love, Ashayam. Your love for me. I... I'd be lost without your love, my Ashayam."

Trip pulled his bust a little up. "T'Pol…" His hand rose up to caress her face. "I had no choice. _My heart_ had no choice."

T'Pol narrowed her eyes, enjoying the soft touch of his hand on her cheek. "Nor mine, Ashayam." She moved slightly her head to better savour his caress. "Also on this the... the other T'Pol was right. In time my heart would know what it wanted."

T'Pol's hand snapped to tighten that of Trip, still resting lovingly on her cheek, as her eyes did close up completely. "And my heart wanted you."

For a moment far from being short Trip basked in the words of T'Pol. But afterwards...

 _*Um, too much grace. Gorgeous, but dangerous for her. Better to tone it down. Do you remember, man? You are in charge of her. She just said it to you. So, c'mon.*_

Eh sure, because it was true that the two of them were alone and, when it was so, she felt much freer and, frankly, quite at ease in abandoning herself to their love, in getting carried away by the feelings without restraint. But precisely that was the point. She was a Vulcan and being carried away without restraint by her own emotions could be harmful to her. It was beautiful that she did it, wonderful, but it was necessary to put to her a limit, the restraint, precisely, which, just because Vulcan, in this field, in the field of emotions, she did not have, devoid as she was now of her control over them, control, mind you, that she had lost precisely for love of him.

So, it was up to him to lay to her the limit. The restraint. But gently. _Gently._ And in his own way. In the manner of the man who had brought her to wanting to give up the control of the emotions in order to be his… _completely_. Without restraint, precisely. And all this was tantamount to saying...

 _*Time to recite again Trip's role.*_

"Mh, happy that your heart has understood what it wanted, but also the brain has its own requirements, my little vulcan bonbon."

T'Pol's mind snapped on alert, in one with her eyes, which widened all a sudden, en garde. By now she had become accustomed... well, at least _quite_ accustomed to the myriad of endearing names with which he often called her and, in all honesty, she really could not say to be displeased in this regard. However, when he took that tone... mh, you never knew where you would have gone to end up. Sure, it just could be his usual means to ease the emotional tension that threatened to overwhelm her, but - along with this - it could be something else. The fanciful mind of her T'hai'la was indecipherably capable of this and much more. What, exactly, was he plotting?

Her hand left his and pushed him back down on her lap. "Are you referring to my brain?"

Trip chuckled slyly. "Well, actually."

"What has my brain that's wrong?"

"Oh nothing, nothing! God forbid!"

"Ah. So then what..."

"Well, maybe it is a little too… vulcan."

"I _am_ Vulcan, Trip."

"Just so. So you have difficulty to grasp the difference between this fable and my miniatures of small freaks."

T'Pol's eyebrow got up. "Explain."

"They have nothing to do with this fable, T'Pol."

"Well, it still comes to things..." Trip was certain. Her voice faltered. "...of fantasy."

Trip decided to ignore her vacillation. All in good time. "True, but there is fantasy and fantasy."

"Ah understood. And my vulcan brain is not able to distinguish between fantasy and fantasy, is it?"

"Well..."

"Okay. That being the case, would you be kind enough to fulfil the presently unfulfilled requirements of my vulcan brain, unable to grasp the fanciful subtleties of the human brain or, maybe, it should be better to say of _your_ human brain, my dear husband?"

Trip smiled both openly and, even more, within himself. It worked always with her. And he liked that very much. And, no doubt about it, she too liked that. To the highest degree.

He ensconced himself even better with his head resting comfortably on her lap. He could clearly see her beautiful face bent towards him and her starry eyes that watched him, curious and amused.

Oh my, how beautiful she was! There was to lose the thread!

Trip, with some difficulty, remembered what he was supposed to say.

"Castles in ruins, dark forests and enchanted. Echoes of past glories and omens of a dreary future. And princesses. Beautiful elven princesses, melancholic and lone. This has nothing to do with my little freaks, T'Pol. This, if anything, might _remember 'The Lord of the Rings'_."

T'Pol became thoughtful. "I have often heard of this book. Many of the crew of _Enterprise_ have read it and in the vulcan compound in San Francisco not a few Vulcans said that it was worthwhile to read it to try to understand the phantasmagorical aspect of human culture."

"Phantasmagorical?"

T'Pol became a little green in the face, in other words blushed slightly. "It is a term I heard from Soval. I... I think that it fits perfectly, if I have well understood its meaning."

"Ah here. Soval. Well, sweetie, that sly old fox of Soval is not at all a fool."

T'Pol preferred not to replicate. Certainly hearing Soval be called _sly old fox_ sounded a tad unseemly, but she could not say that it was not an appropriate name. The old friend of her father ***** after all was a really a sly old fox, by human standards and, let's face it, even vulcan, and that other sly old fox of her T'hai'la had realized it perfectly. And Trip was one who didn't waste time on niceties and didn't mince his words; he always called a spade a spade, as he himself would say. Surak! She had really learned lots of things about human language, from her being with him. She had become an expert in the 'colour' of human language. Quite frankly she could rig up an interpretation agency about the colourful idioms of Humans.

She merely raised her eyebrow again. "I, though, have not read that book. I ..." The greenness-redness grew a little more intense. "... I do not dislike at all the old legends and sagas of my people, as opposed to the most of my compatriots ****** , but that one is neither a saga nor a legend. It is a literary work that is developed according to a fantasy theme taking its cue just from the sagas and legends that were the subject of my research. In this juncture, I mean in the context of the research that I have undertaken concerning... the ears of the Elves, it would not have been of any use to me to... to probe the possibility of..."

"Of a possible past encounter between Humans and Vulcans. True, Hon. Absolutely true. This fable that has impressed you so much, however, seems to have something of _'The Lord of the Rings'_. And if it is beautiful even if only a tenth of how beautiful that book is, oh well, my love, then it is really beautiful!"

"From what you tell me, it appears clear that you love that book very much, T'hai'la."

"Yes. Really a lot." Trip became animated. T'Pol could have said that he was getting overheated.

"It is a very wide-ranging work, across the board, where there is everything. Adventure, friendship, self-denial, hatred, cowardice, courage, violence, tenderness, joy, pain, evil, good. And love, my love. An impossible love capable of conquering everything." Trip flicked his arm. His hand grabbed T'Pol's head and drew it to him. He kissed her. A brief kiss, extremely intense, full of passion, that left T'Pol dazed. "Like ours, my love."

He let her go. She lifted her head and looked at him disoriented.

He laughed. "You would love that book, wifey. Of course, I'm not Aragorn, the King of Men, but you have nothing to envy to Arwen, the elven princess who agrees to become mortal for the love of Aragorn, to share his life and his destiny."

T'Pol gasped. "That book... that book... does it speak of the love" - T'Pol not even realized that she was pronouncing once again that word. At that moment, her mind in turmoil had other things to think about. - "between a Human and an elven princess?"

Trip remained taken aback in front of the impetus with which T'Pol posed that question. "Well yes. Actually, yes. "

T'Pol kept silent, while Trip remained to watch her with puzzled look. Then he shook himself. "T'Pol, you told me that this fable about Elves and... pointed ears comes to children... children as those that we two might have. Is that so? Do not ..." Trip's voice sounded assertive and resolute. "... do not be ambiguous, T'Pol."

T'Pol was not ambiguous. Her hand strongly clutched that of Trip. "It's so, Trip."

"But the fable speaks of an elven princess, not of a vulcan female."

"I... I think it is better that I continue to read the fable, Trip. Although ..." Her voice faltered. Trip it was certain. Her voice faltered. "... although I fear very much that you can find very unpleasant the next few paragraphs. For me... for me it has been so. Extremely."

Trip lifted his head from her lap. He looked at her with intent eyes, knitting his eyebrows.

Then he dropped down his head back on her knees.

He was pretty sure that T'Pol was right. He wouldn't have liked what she was about to read to him, namely the continuation of the first paragraphs she had already read, and - who knows? - maybe part of T'Pol's strange disconcertment depended also on the unpleasantness of the fable, which then, perhaps, much fable was not. Only one part, though. Of this he was quite certain. Only one part. Because there was, _there had to be_ , something else. T'Pol certainly was not one to let herself be upset so much by the disagreeableness of a reading. It would take a lot more, for the devil! The devil. Exactly. Not even the devil himself had succeeded! *******

But what was this something else? Why T'Pol was so secretive? It seemed as if she wanted to encourage him to encourage her to say it to him, but she did not know how to tell him. Indeed she had reached the point of wanting to read the fable to him, whereas before she would have preferred it was him to read it on his own.

Well, one thing was certain. If she had wanted to stimulate his curiosity, she had succeeded perfectly. Better than he was usually capable of doing with her. Damn! The girl had mastered very well his tricks of the trade! He had to be very alert with her!

Now his curiosity was really acute and even if there had not been the need to understand what was behind the strange behaviour of T'Pol, he wanted to know.

And then... well, then, all things considered, T'Pol had told him that only the next few paragraphs would have been unpleasant, or at least so he had understood... and so he hoped. Certainly, they had to be really dreadful to impress her in that way.

But there was also something else, and very important. In all that mess, T'Pol seemed to have overcome her uncertainties. She now wanted to read to him the fable without hesitations or fears whatsoever.

It was not appropriate to make the fussy, now that, in one way or another, but without moving like a bull in a china shop, he had reached his goal, namely to make it so that T'Pol were capable of overcoming that odd sort of mental block caused to her by her bewilderment, by the dismay aroused in her by the fable.

He folded his hands on her lap, behind his neck, as if they were a pillow.

He smiled, tranquil, sly and crafty.

He winked at her. "Well, I'm not a weak, right, T'Pol? At least you say that I'm not."

She gave a vigorous nod. "No! You are not weak! You're ... you're _damn_ strong!"

"Okay. So I think I can tolerate the uglinesses that you tell me that there are in the next paragraphs."

He gestured with his chin at the PADD she was still holding.

"Come on, girl. I'm dying to know what have they heard, the sensitive pointed ears of our beautiful elven princess."

* * *

 _ **End of Chapter Three**_

 _ **TBC**_

 **oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo**

 _And now we enter the heart, my friends._

 _Are you ready?_

 **oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo**

 _ ***** Do you remember "Shore Leave", my friends?_

 ****** _Do you remember, my friends, what Hoshi tells in regard to T'Pol's penchant for the ancient vulcan legends in "In the Hall of the Mountain King"?_

 ******* _And here we go again, my friends. We are once again grappling with "In the Hall of the Mountain King"._


	4. The Ears of the Elves - Chapter Four

**The Ears of the Elves**

 **By Asso**

 **Chapter Four**

* * *

 _A really short chapter._

 _But believe me, my friends. It could not be otherwise._

 _My Muse was absolutely clear about that._

 _And remember, please, what T'Pol said to Trip in the previous chapter: the fable's paragraphs that she was preparing to read would have been very unpleasant._

 _Now she begins to read these paragraphs._

 _And they are very unpleasant._

 _Please. Do not tell me I did not warn you._

* * *

 **The Ears of the Elves**

 **Chapter Four**

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

It was a woman's scream.

The princess recognized the voice that cried as far as it was distant and faint.

And the voice was filled with fright.

Was terrified.

Atana!

Her most trusty handmaiden!

The only one that had remained to her.

The only one who had wanted to stay with her.

Atana. Her friend all along.

With a quick gesture the Princess unsheathed her long sword in the same time that she launched herself into a mad ride.

The cry. The cry of Atana. Again. Clearer. Stronger. " **No!** ". Horrified. In despair. Loaded with all the despair of the world.

"Atana!" shouted the Princess.

She snapped ahead. She ran even faster. Like the wind. More than the wind.

"No! NO! **NO!** " The throttled voice of Atana.

The race of the Princess became frenzied. Her long slender legs moved crazily. Her short skirt fluttered behind her. Her long hair floated wild as her thoughts.

What was going on? Where were her armigers? The meagre ranks of her followers?

"Atana! _Atana!_ _**Atana!**_ _"_ , screamed her frantic mind and her gasping voice.

The desperate yell echoed hers.

" **NNNOOO!** "

And desperately ran the Princess.

Along the precipitous and broken floors; through the bastions in ruin; down along the narrow stairs and craggy and in pieces.

Down towards the large courtyard of the ruined castle.

Whence the cry had come.

Whence it rose again. Even louder; and broken; delirious with terror.

" **N... no!** **Noooo!** "

"Atana! **Atana!** " yelled the Princess's upset voice. "Soldiers! Soldieeeers! **My soldiers!** "

But only Atana's terrorized voice answered her.

" **Nooooooo** **!** "

"ATANAAAA!"

"No no no! **NO!** "

"Soldiers, SOLDIERS! **SOLDIERS!** "

" **NOOOOO!** "

"Atana! Atan ..."

Her voice broke in her throat in one with her mad dash.

Her eyes widened in horror.

The courtyard...

Drenched in blood.

Of her armigers.

Scattered like broken puppets on the stone slabs in pieces of the floor.

With the eyes staring in death.

And there, in the middle of the courtyard, along whose edges droves of men... of _Humans_... dirty, covered in blood-soaked leather armours, with the swords and the pikes dripping with blood… the blood of her armigers… yet tight in their hands... were guffawing uproariously with boisterous laughters...

There, just there...

The Princess's petrified eyes saw.

 _Atana_ , her mind in turmoil murmured.

Because it was her. Her hearing and her senses had not deceived her. It was her. Although it was not possible to see who was really the one, the woman, of whom almost nothing could be seen.

Nothing except the bare legs, splayed and protruding, stretched out and stiff, from among the naked bodies of the herd of Humans who surrounded her.

All and sundry on top of her.

On her body.

Behind. At the front. To the sides. Below. Above.

It was her.

It was Atana.

Hers was the voice, overflowing with horror and weeping, that screamed.

Helpless.

Hers were the hands, powerless and trembling, that desperately tried with no hope to push away at least one, the only one they could reach, of those infamous beasts that bestially were abus...

* * *

"T'Pol! Stop it!"

T'Pol did. Immediately. She lowered the PADD on the sofa.

And a pair of glassy eyes on Trip's face.

He had lifted his bust exerting leverage on an elbow and was staring at her, wide-eyed.

His hoarse voice tried to speak. "T… T'Pol…"

Her voice rang equally hoarse. Low and laboured. " T'hai'la?"

Trip for a long moment did not speak, continuing staring at her with wild eyes and incredulous. Then, finally, he managed to utter something that made sense.

His voice was a low murmur and was brimming with amazement.

"T'Pol... you... you have been able to... you _have wanted_ to read this?"

T'Pol did not answer. She merely nodded, with a faint gesture. She understood well the question of her T'hai'la. The reasons for it.

"T'Pol." It was almost a sigh.

Trip was motionless, his head and his astonished eyes turned upwards, towards her face.

"T'Pol, this is not an aseptic report, even raw as much as you want, but still an aseptic report. This is… this is a writing, a tale, designed and built to inspire, to convey emotion and... and horror. And you…" Trip scowled, in disbelief. "…you have read this and… and you're reading it to me, conveying... conveying all the thrill... all the despair... the horror, precisely... that exudes from it. How... how is it possible that you can... that you can do it?"

T'Pol shook her head, lamely. "I... I do not know." Her voice, it too, a faint breath.

Trip lifted his torso even more, almost wildly. He grabbed forcefully T'Pol's hand. "Enough, my love! Stop it! I'll read it on my own! As you suggested before. If you feel that it is important, I will take care of doing it on my own. Not the slightest need for you to rea..."

T'Pol did not allow him to complete his sentence. "I want to do it!" Loudly and strongly. Almost violently.

Her hand gripped his. "Now…now I want to do it!"

Then, with evident effort on herself, a little more calmly, "I… _must_ do it."

Her hand clutched his. "Now I know you were right, my Adun. I found this. I... I have ill-advisedly read this, without being able to stop myself, pushed - _compelled_ \- by something that was stronger than me, plunging my Katra into the horror. Now... now I have to read this to you, I have to convey to you its horror. "

"T'Pol. Sweetheart. I don't think so. Forget my foolish childlike words. What you must do it's to stop."

"No, Trip. I can not stop now." She clenched even more convulsively the hand of her Ashayam. "Because only you can save me."

Trip's eyes widened.

"Do not... do not abandon me now. Help me." She almost cried. "Help me!"

Trip looked at her with wide eyes.

"Adun." Her voice dropped to such a low tone that it was hard to hear it. "Help me, my Adun. As so many times you've already done. Take charge of me once again. Absorb ..." Trip felt her hand shake so strongly his that nearly it got broken. "…absorb in yourself my horror. The horror of this fable. The horror that I can not banish from me. Please, my Adun." T'Pol's gaze was a fiery prayer. "Please."

Trip's eyes were fixed and motionless, wide open on hers.

T'Pol's eyes were restless and uneasy, wide open on his.

"Help me, my Ashal-veh."

Trip for a moment did not move.

Then he nodded. Without speaking.

He lowered again his torso and rested his head on T'Pol's lap. He squeezed her hand, which had become soft and weak in his. It was sweaty. It trembled imperceptibly.

He nodded again.

A thousand questions were taking confused shape in his mind.

How had his T'Pol done to come into possession of that stuff? Where had she found it? How was it possible that she had resolved to read it in spite of what it was? How was it possible for her to be so hopelessly caught in trap by its reading? Despite its intense emotionalism? Despite its horror? Why? How come? And how was it possible she could - and would want to! - express - convey! - so patently, with her voice and her way to read, all this emotionalism? All this horror? Which, to fill the measure to the brim and beyond, didn't look like it was over! Not at all!

But, in hindsight, what all these questions mattered?

Nothing. Less than nothing.

Sure. Because above them, all of them, above everything, there was her.

His beloved T'Pol.

And her desperate request. Her openly declared need for his help.

The horror of the fable had trapped her.

No matter how it was possible that it had been possible.

It had been possible.

And now she was asking him to take upon himself her own horror.

To free her from it.

She knew he could do it.

And, of course, he would.

He relaxed, ostentatiously, on her lap. He kept holding her hand in his. He felt it shake more evidently.

"Go ahead, Hon." His voice was low and quiet. "Your outlet ..." He smiled. A complicit and beaming smile. "...is here for you."

He felt her hand tighten again strongly his, felt her relief and her joy pour out mighty via their touch and their Bond.

He made to her with his eyes a mute beck that said it all.

She took a deep breath.

With her hand still well clasped in his, she brought again the PADD at the right distance from her eyes, which focused one more time on it.

With a strained voice, yet unequivocally more limpid, imbued with a palpable note of relief, T'Pol resumed reading.

* * *

 _ **End of Chapter Four**_

 _ **TBC**_

 **oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo**

 _I repeat. Do not tell me I did not warn you, my friends, my dear readers._

 _Not at all pleasant, the paragraphs that T'Pol is reading to Trip._

 _And, unfortunately, I have to say to you: the next paragraphs will be even worse._

 _But be confident. At the end of the tunnel there is always a light._


	5. The Ears of the Elves - Chapter Five

**The Ears of the Elves**

 **By Asso**

 **Chapter Five**

* * *

 _And so here I am again, my friends._

 _Just like that._

 _Another chapter of this story is here, ready to be read by you, if you like it._

 _It is short, even it. Perhaps not like the fourth, but rather short in any case._

 _What do you want? My Muse thinks so, with this story. But mine - you know - is a capricious Muse. She can always change her mind._

 _Even this - I warn you - it's a rather dark chapter. It is better you know it._

 _And, let me repeat, there are clear references in it to "In the Hall of the Mountain King." I prefer to say this to you, so you won't wear yourselves out thinking about who are the_ _ **King**_ _and_ _ **Lil**_ _. Just go see it in that other story, if you want it._

 _But enough now._

 _It's time to read._

 _Still provided, of course, that you like doing it._

* * *

 **The Ears of the Elves**

 **Chapter Five**

 **ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo**

 **ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo**

Like a thunderbolt. A storm. A hurricane.

Like a fury.

Mad with blind anger and furor.

So the Princess darted.

And the brutal assailants of her handmaiden could not even realize that they were leaving this world; their bodies sliced, their heads severed by the sword foaming with rage of the Princess, which swirled bloodthirsty in their impure flesh.

The stunned circle of the human onlookers ran cold in amazement.

Dozens and dozens of wide open eyes above gaping mouths mute in astonishment watched the splendid girl with tapered elven ears, the blond-haired warrior female swooped in as divine wrath on their comrades.

Her blazing green eyes, flashing with warlike furor.

Her sword, red with blood, which stood against them.

* * *

T'Pol stopped reading.

Trip looked curiously at her face.

At her eyes.

Gleaming. Ardent and proud.

He smiled. Sly and conniving. "Not at all bad, this elven Princess, eh T'Pol?"

T'Pol lowered her eyes on him.

Damn, how they glowed!

He pounded into the mortar. "Worthy of a Warrior Princess of those ones of whom it's fabled that in the ancient times existed on Vulcan."

T'Pol did not answer. She simply looked at Trip with penetrating intensity. Then her eyes softened. She spoke softly. "Do I go on, Trip?"

He squeezed her hand, still tight in his. He nodded, smiling sweetly. "Go ahead, Hon."

She went on.

* * *

The human herd stood staring agape, for long moments, in the leaden silence suddenly dropped on the courtyard, at the lethal elven girl who was brandishing that sword, dripping with the blood of their companions.

Too captivated they had been by the entertaining spectacle of the vile gang rape, foretasting their turn to participate in the party, to be able to notice her arrival, let alone the screams she had before launched.

But now, that beautiful young girl, that deadly warrior elf in the guise of a tiny, gorgeous young female, was there.

Erect and proud.

Shining with dazzling, feral, beauty.

Standing, among the slaughtered bodies of their wretched cronies.

With that sword, coruscant with their blood, wielded as a deadly barrier between her and all of them.

And between them and the elven maiden, lying on the ground, naked and trembling and sobbing at her feet, behind her, by her torn away, with a ferocity that had nothing to envy to their own, from the bestial cravings of their dead companions. And theirs, too.

She was there.

 _She and her sword._

A tingle of wrathful uncertainty crossed the human rabble.

It was not possible! It could not be!

That woman, that impudent elven female... she... she had to die!

After having been possessed by all of them! One behind the other! And all together! Dozens and dozens and dozens and dozens of times! Painfully. Savagely. Ferociously. In every way. Possible and impossible. In...

* * *

T'Pol's voice trembled imperceptibly.

* * *

In… In all her hot...

* * *

The tremor in T'Pol's voice became decidedly more perceivable.

Trip shook her hand vigorously. "It is a fable, T'Pol. Nothing more than a fable. Even if dark. But fables are often dark. Like life."

His grasp loosened. Became softer. "Yes, I know. As much as life can have made us accustomed to such horrific events, to such horrendous violences, it's still unspeakably difficult to read of such things, whether real or invented. But..." T'Pol was certain. Something - something strong and beautiful - passed between them, trough the gentle grip of his hand on hers. "...this is still a fable, Hon."

He watched her well straight in the eye, but with all the sweetness of the world. _With all the understanding of the world._ "You know it well, my heart. You yourself have said it."

T'Pol did not reply, didn't want to catch the subtext of Trip's unspoken question. She simply nodded.

Her hand returned the grip of her T'hai'la. Gratefully.

It was gorgeous to know she could count on him.

Always and in every case.

With no need to talk.

With no need to express what for her was so difficult to express.

She started again.

* * *

…In all her hot... In all her hot... orifices.

* * *

She managed to utter that sentence in its entirety, finally.

But how much effort! How much! It was not in that way that she had learned to make love! It was not in that way that her Trip had taught her the wonderful physical and bodily beauty of love!

 **Orifices!**

It was... it was atrocious!

Atrocious, when she had read it the first time.

Atrocious, when she had re-read it and then read again, and again, and again, unable to stop, forced by what she had first felt and then come to be vividly conscious that was veiled in the fable and perhaps also charmed by the horror fascination. Trip had often said it to her. Horror has its own allure, he knew it. And, now, she too was aware; now that she was open to human emotions.

By luck than there was her Trip!

But it was still atrocious!

And even more atrocious now, that she had to utter that phrase - that term, that horrendous definition! - out loud.

To her Trip!

T'Pol stopped one more time, unable to go on.

Trip did not speak anymore. He said nothing more.

Simply, he suddenly stood up to sit next to her, placed his arm around her shoulders and hugged her tightly tightly to him.

Some instants passed, hushed moments made of love and solace.

And, in that love and in that solace, T'Pol found quietness and strength.

It would take much more than that sentence to unsettle her!

Indeed _nothing_ could unsettle her!

 **She had her Trip!**

Still enclosed into his hug, she started to read once again.

She resumed reading exactly with the perturbing phrase that had compelled her to stop.

She reread it in a firm voice, although glaringly troubled. And went on resolutely, well tight to Trip.

* * *

In all her hot orifices.

Without pity.

For then die.

Drowned in her own blood!

But there was that sword.

That threatening sword.

The elven female's voice got up strong and proud.

Sardonic.

"What are you waiting for, o mighty warriors?"

Her mocking laughter whipped them.

"You're not going being afraid, by chance, of a poor elven female, are you?"

It fustigated them.

"Come on! I'm here. I..." She shook her bloody sword. "... and my sword."

Her laughter turned into a wry sneer. A sarcastic and malicious invitation.

"Who wants to immolate himself on its tip to allow the others to get the better, even more easily than they are surely capable of doing, of this miserable, insolent, small elven female?"

This was too much!

The disordered rows of the Humans started to fidget. The throats screamed.

And one, the boldest - or the most foolhardy - lunged.

And, well far from wanting to do it, he immolated himself.

On the tip of that sword.

It halted his race, pierced him from side to side and, immediately, seamlessly, in a sole motion along with the pitiless impalement, the sharp blade of that merciless sword ran quick as a flash inside his flesh, along his entire body, upwards and downward, and split it into two halves which fell down at the two sides, flooding the ground with a sea of blood.

The second Human who, immediately after the first, had lashed out at the elven female was unable to stop his ride at the sight of what was happening to his companion.

That tremendous sword had already done its awful work on the first Human who had launched himself at the assault of the elven woman, when, like lightning, it went down on the second and raced through his body, at the waist, from side to side, like a knife in butter.

And that sword without mercy and without rest did not fail with the third Human, either.

He had cast himself forwards, silently, from behind the Princess, practically together with the second.

The keen pointed ears of the Princess pricked up on alert, perceiving the air shift behind her, as her sword was cutting in two the second assailant.

Her eyes darted.

She not even turned.

Just her body and her hands, which held tightly her sword, moved with grace and fluidity.

And, together, even her sword did move.

It flew.

Along with the head of the third Human.

And the fourth, who, moving from the right side of the Princess, had thrown himself against her, screaming, along with the third, went to kiss the bloodied ground with the last unclean kiss of his unclean life, his head torn off from his body by that unstoppable, fulminating sword, bearer of death.

The fifth Human managed to halt. Desperately he succeeded in blocking himself just a hair from the Princess, falling uproariously kneeling in front of her.

He saw her gelid gaze upon him.

But he failed even in seeing that unbridled sword and savage that came down on him, severing horribly his head and his life.

* * *

"Dammit, T'Pol!" Trip could not refrain from interrupting T'Pol. "Saying that this Princess is not bad, it is not to do justice to her!"

Still holding T'Pol tight to him, with his arm around her shoulders, his fingers patted gently on her upper arm.

"Those ancient vulcan Princesses we were talking about, could they have had something of our elven Princess? Of course, if really the Elves of human folklore are the fantastic transfiguration of the ancient Vulcans... for the devil! There wasn't really to joke with them! I mean, with those ancient vulcan Princesses. Do you agree with me, my petite vulcan…" Out of the corner of her eye, T'Pol saw him wink at her. "…princess?"

She turned abruptly toward him. "What would you say, with that _'my petite vulcan Princess'_ , Husband?"

"Hey, hey! What's the matter?" He laughed merrily. "Are you or you're not my princess? I called you in this way lots of times and it never seemed to me that you didn't like this. On the contrary! And are you Vulcan or you're not? And are you petite or you're not? Would you deny it? I just do not believe. It would be..." He chuckled. "...at all illogical. So then, putting it all together, what's wrong if I call you _'my petite vulcan Princess'_? It ought to be liked by you, indeed."

"It must be acknowledged that your logic is markedly improved, Husband."

"Well, you know, with a wife like you."

"A wife with whom it's no joking, you mean to say?"

Trip laughed heartily. "Oh no, I can do it, my wife. And in fact I do. Sure..." He pushed her a little away from him and looked at her sidelong and slyly, giving her a little fillip on the cheek. - "...I have to be rather careful in doing so."

And he basked in seeing that on her lips it became evident a beautiful smile.

It disappeared immediately. But there had been, for Pete's sake! He could joke with his own vulcan Princess!

Yeah. His own vulcan Princess.

Trip's look grew thoughtful.

That fable...

The elven Princess of that fable...

Her eyes, the eyes of his T'Pol... so gleaming, so ardent and proud, when she had read, and in such an expressive way, about how much the Princess of that fable was brave and proud.

How much her eyes had shimmered, how much she had appeared engrossed in the feats of that Princess, to the point to stop reading, to get lost in the pride for the valiancy of that Princess.

 _In her own pride._

How much... how much there was, of that fairy-tale elven Princess, in T'Pol?

Was it this?

Here was the cause of her astonishment, the disconcert that had initially blocked her?

Of course, there wouldn't have been too much to remain surprised, in the light ... in the light of the connection between T'Pol and Lil.

But there would have been very much to remain surprised if a connection of this kind had existed once more, even if the connection, this time, may have been with... a fairy-tale elven Princess.

Certainly, this would have justified T'Pol's bewilderment.

Yet...

Yet, Trip felt that it was not so. There was something else. Yes, maybe there was that too. But not only that.

T'Pol... yes, T'Pol would have been able to master her dismay, if it had been only that.

After... after the vicissitudes with the King... and with Lil, she would have been able to master herself, more than how she was already able to do.

Maybe.

Trip felt T'Pol's eyes on him.

She was looking at him pensively in turn.

He knew - indistinctly, but he knew - that she somehow knew what he was thinking.

And she made him understand it quite clear, though without saying it explicitly.

She took his hand in hers. "I think it's better that I keep reading, husband."

Trip nodded. "Okay, T'Pol."

"But..." She snuggled up against him. "...now we enter the darkest part. I... I'll need a lot of courage, to read it aloud. It will seem even darker, in this way."

Trip held her with gentle force. He smiled. "Do you think I can function again, as your outlet?"

He heard and felt her sigh close to him.

And he had no doubt it was a sigh of contentment.

Her voice rose again loud and clear.

The reading began again.

* * *

 _ **End of Chapter Five**_

 _ **TBC**_

 **ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo**

 **ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo**

 _We're about to enter the darkest part?_

 _Oh for the Ears of the Elves!_

.


	6. The Ears of the Elves - Chapter Six

**The Ears of the Elves**

 **By Asso**

 **Chapter** **Six**

* * *

 _And so here I am again, my friends, with the sixth chapter of this strange story, full of fantasy and truth, of myth and reality._

 _Like life._

 _Once again it is a short chapter._

 _Have patience, my friends and readers. My Muse thinks it's okay so. At least for now._

 _And once again, please. Go take a look at "In the Hall of the Mountain King."_

 _Difficult to have a full understanding of the present story without knowing at least something of that other, as this chapter clearly shows._

 _But if you do not want to do it, it does not matter._

 _I hope you like equally this chapter._

* * *

 **The Ears of the Elves**

 **Chapter Six**

 **oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo**

The silence was a concrete thing.

It weighed like a boulder, on the courtyard. It was so tense and intense as to be palpable.

Surreal, even. Unnatural.

Like the scene over which it loomed.

Surreal, unnatural, in the sweetness of the evening which was advancing.

In the gentle light of dusk which was going to go off in the darkness of night, the courtyard shone with own light.

The gloomy light of blood.

The courtyard was slithery with blood.

Anywhere.

The blood of the elven armigers slain by the Humans.

The blood of the Humans chopped off by that elven sword which didn't know mercy or rest.

Mixed up. It all together.

Like the bodies.

Maimed.

In pieces.

Mixed up. They all together.

Of the Elves and of the Humans.

Silence.

Heavy.

Oppressive.

Bated.

Waiting to be violated. And broken.

Silence.

Not even the sobs of the elf-maiden, naked on the ground - trembling; violated and broken; in body and spirit - could be heard anymore.

Silence.

Only the raspy breathing of the Humans.

Only the faint panting of the Princess.

Who was standing there, upright and proud.

Defiantly.

Her sword well tight in her hands. Her muscles tense and ready to spring. Her long pointed ears on acute alert. Her agile eyes darting everywhere, taut to catch the slightest movement that could occur.

So she loomed up, beautiful and brave, in an insouciant waiting stance.

Haughty.

Superb.

And aware.

Perfectly aware.

That, in a few moments, the silence would be shattered. Like her life.

Violated and broken. Like her flesh and her soul.

Atrociously.

She knew that she had no hope.

She was strong.

She was a true elven Princess.

Her sword was strong.

It was the sword of a true elven Princess.

The edge of its blade would have sheared off many human lives yet.

But the horde of the Humans would have understood what to do.

Once the rage that had blinded their minds had faded, they would have known what to do.

And they would have done it.

The abject human herd would have assailed her en masse.

Her sword would have severed yet many contemptible lives of Humans.

But the horde would have overpowered her.

And she would have been at the mercy of those sordid vile Beings.

The last Princess of the people of the Elves would end like this.

* * *

"Eh no!"

T'Pol was caught off guard by the sudden burst of Trip.

She pulled away from him and, seated beside him on the sofa, turned her face to him, with her eyes wide in surprise.

His sparkled, she could say, with anger. Their lucent blue had turned intensely vivid.

"Trip?"

He snorted, stirred, gesticulated.

"Definitely not! It is not possible! It _can not_ be possible!"

"Wh… what, Trip?"

"The Princess! She can not end like this!"

"But..."

"But are we kidding? The heroine - And such a heroine! So proud, so brave, so beautiful! The last princess of the people of the Elves! - who ends up in this way? Prey to the cravings and the cruelty of a pack of sordid Humans? Of... of... of brigands! Yes, just so! Of bloodthirsty brigands!"

"But... but Trip!"

"No way! This is out of question! It is merely unacceptable!"

"But Trip!" T'Pol was definitely dumbfounded. "It is a fable! Nothing but a fable! Just as you have pointed out to me!"

"Yes yes sure!" He put a hand on her shoulder. "A fable. But never has it been heard of a fable in which the heroine dies so!"

"But..."

"A saviour! There is always a saviour! Always!" Trip removed his hand from T'Pol's shoulder and pointed its index at her. "You wouldn't want to tell me that, here, the saviour there is not, would you?" He waved the index. "Eh, T'Pol?"

T'Pol found herself nearly shouting her reply. Impetuously. "Yes! There is!"

"Ah here. I could have sworn. A saviour... this could not fail being there!" A genuine sigh of relief emerged from Trip's lips. That fable... oh boy, that fable was damn intriguing. He really began to understand T'Pol's behaviour, irrespective of whichever other and deeper reason could lurk inside it. "Come on, then, babe. What are you waiting for...?"

Trip stopped abruptly at seeing T'Pol's expression. He did not like at all the shadow of... what was it?... apprehension, by chance? ...that passed in her eyes. By now, not even the smallest nuance of her could escape him. He could easily do without the Bond. Under this point of view this was... an extra. And in the affair that was taking place around that damn fable, this nuance was new.

Apprehension.

But why? And why now was she lowering her head like that?

Why... was she avoiding his look?

Apprehension.

A feeling crept in him. Something, a feeling... yes ... a feeling coming from her.

Apprehension for whom?

For her?

 _Or for him?_

Trip raised his finger to T'Pol's chin and pushed kindly it up, forcing her to watch him.

The shadow in her eyes persisted and he was decidedly not pleased of that.

He spoke in a cheerful voice. He felt it was a good thing doing so.

"Well, baby? What's the matter?" He chortled, a little forcedly. "What else is wrong?"

His hand went up to caress her cheek. He looked at her in the eyes jokingly and tenderly at the same time.

Olympian gods! What kind of bottomless pits of beauty were those eyes of her! You just had to be well careful not to get lost in them! When, then, they showed that way her vulnerability, her need for his help, there was to end up drowned in their beauty!

Trip, somehow, managed to avoid drowning in those wonderful eyes.

He coughed. He swallowed. Finally he managed to speak. And - thing which had really to be ascribed to his credit - even in the best way, the most appropriate at that moment.

"Babe, I agree, these scenes you've read and whose perturbing impact you were able to express and convey so well, were really unpleasant, as you said."

He laughed, to give strength to his words. "But they have gone." He laughed again. "And, as you can see, I'm still in one piece. Safe and sound. Alive and kicking. And you too, it seems to me."

His laugh turned into a smile that wanted to convey tranquillity.

He looked at her with eyes as smiling as his lips. "There is no reason to feel apprehensive."

T'Pol winced in hearing Trip express with such clarity what she felt, even though she now knew very well that her katra had no secrets for him. At the very moment she had handed herself over to the Ashaya she felt for him, inevitably and… wholeheartedly… she had also totally handed her katra into his hands. There was nothing else that a true vulcan female could do when Ashaya, the true Ashaya, as it was hers, made its unappealable recall.

As it had happened to her.

Trip laughed again, heartily. "Hard to hide things, between us, huh Hon? I've learned this truth and the one who taught it to me, it was you. So, why are you amazed?"

T'Pol brought in turn her hand to stroke the cheek of Trip.

"Ashayam, my apprehension..."

"Has no reason to be, T'Pol. The worst, I mean the worst in this fable, has passed. Now ..." A broad smile spread across his face. "... now here comes the saviour!

"Yeah. The saviour." T'Pol's voice was a whisper. Full of apprehension.

The smile faded on Trip's visage. He narrowed his eyes. But what was there, now? Why that tone on her part, in mentioning the saviour? Was there something in this phantom saviour... something that...?

"T'Pol, is there something wrong in this saviour? Why are you so apprehensive for..." T'Pol looked into Trip's eyes so intensely, with a gaze so… apprehensive, that Trip really perceived her apprehension. And, as before he had dimly sensed, now he felt clearly... that she felt apprehension for him. "... for me?"

T'Pol sighed. So her T'hai'la had fully grasped, thing that, after all, couldn't be doubted. She was spotlessly conscious of that. It was her, this time, who, in a very little vulcan way, swallowed, manifestly uncomfortable.

"The worst... the worst scenes are yet to come, Trip." Her voice was strained. Uncertain. "And... and not all saviours are good."

Trip raised an eyebrow. His eyes darkened. Understanding made its way inside him. His tongue began to harass the inside of his cheek.

He tapped with the index finger of his hand on his temple. "Mh, let's see. I seem to understand that… well, it is not said that a saviour may act only because motivated by good. This is what you want to say, T'Pol?"

T'Pol swallowed again and nodded.

"I see." His eyebrow went up once more. "And, tell me, T'Pol, there are no elven saviours who may come to the aid of our Princess, at this point of the story. Am I wrong?"

Once again T'Pol swallowed and shook her head no.

"I would have bet on that." Trip's eyebrow showed no signs of wanting to go down. "So, thither, I mean in that damn castle in ruin where our Princess is waiting for her destiny to be fulfilled and thereabout, there are only Humans, still at this point of the story, I think I understand. True this, too. Right, T'Pol?"

T'Pol brought, in a rush, by impulse, her hand to shake Trip's shoulder. "Yes, Trip." Almost with consternation. "There are only Humans."

"Very good." The eyebrow went down, now, as the tone of his voice. It sounded grievous, now. "So if there has to be a saviour, and, as you say, this saviour exists in fact, he can only be a Human. But Humans are not exactly kind to the Elves. I myself have said this to you. And, on other hand, this fable teaches, in this regard. In short, at the end of the fair, wanting to say the truth of the matter, a human saviour might have reasons… not exactly steeped in goodness, to save an elven Princess, reasons perhaps not too pleasant for her. Actually this human saviour might... "

Trip did not give vent to his thoughts in full.

He paused. His eyes seemed to stare, pensive, at a distant point and indefinite.

Then he shook himself. He raised his eyebrow again and spoke. To T'Pol and to himself.

His voice rang definitely sombre. "You know, after all, why one should expect that a human saviour can be good? In the end, Humans are sons of evil. Our dear friends, the Bannerdas, have made it well clear to us and my personal pleasant experience leaves no shadow of doubt about that."

T'Pol clenched Trip's shoulder with her hand. "Trip, do not ..."

He did not allow her to complete the sentence. "Humans. Sons of evil. Whether aggressors or saviours."

"Trip ..."

"Sons of evil. Like me."

T'Pol couldn't help but wince one more time. "Trip!"

He sneered, without caring of her outcry. "Indeed, to say it all, my roots are definitely nobler. I descend directly from the devil himself."

T'Pol winced again, and even more conspicuously. Her voice sounded shrill. "Trip! Do not start again with this story! I've already told you that ..."

But again he did not let her finish.

He went on, sneering, as he patted on her hand on his shoulder and looked at her with dull eyes. "Oh do not worry about me, sweetheart. By now I became inured to this. It's not nice to know I am what I am, but what can you do? It is so."

The wry grin grew even more mocking on his face, while T'Pol was experiencing the impelling urge to wring her hands.

"Mh, let me think, Hon. Is there any chance that a human saviour, enemy of the Elves, may ignore the wretched spark of the evil from which he was born? Oh that's very difficult, isn't it? Above all considering that such a saviour is arguably not in the least conscious of a detail as trivial as this one."

The bitter sneer that wanted to be a mocking smile, died on Trip's lips. He took a soft sigh, looking at T'Pol with dismal eyes.

"Like me, babe. I certainly did not know to be the heir of the devil, yet I am."

"Enough!"

This was really a cry, low, but unquestionably a cry, and rather harsh, on T'Pol's part, which silenced Trip and forced him to listen to her.

She jumped up and looked down at Trip... one could have said angrily, with a hard frown.

"Trip, stop! Do not make me say this again! You have nothing to do with the King. With... with the devil! You are Trip! My beloved, immensely good, immensely brave, immensely strong, immensely lovable Trip!"

Sitting on the couch, his eyes upraised, towards hers, Trip couldn't help but grin bitterly again. "Am I this?"

T'Pol shouted. And rather loud. Without the slightest bother about it. "You are!"

Trip fell silent, nor did T'Pol say anything more. Their eyes spoke to each other in silence, together with their hearts.

Trip finally broke the silence.

He smiled. Really. A little wearily, in truth, but he smiled. Without bitterness or sneer. One of his genuine smiles. Sweetly ironic, warm and awfully infectious, as T'Pol knew very well.

"Yes. It's true. Thank to you, my love. Thank to you, I am Trip. Maybe not as good as you say that I am, but still Trip."

He lowered his eyes and remained silent for a few moments, still sitting on the couch, with his elbows leaning on his knees, looking down, under the fiery gaze of T'Pol, standing before him.

Then, finally, he laughed softly.

He raised his eyes and looked at T'Pol with a cheerful face.

He grabbed her hands and pulled her back down to sit beside him.

He laughed loud. "Girl, that's enough. Time to stop with these trifles. Your 'immensely' good Trip - and your husband de facto, namely your lord and master, being you his property - gives you the order not to put more time in between. And, as it is by now sanctioned without possibility of appeal, you have to obey my orders."

T'Pol sighed loudly, with relief, and, with relief, immediately adapted herself to his retrieved oomph, the one usual to him, the oomph made up of odd and tenuous humour and at the same time of scathing irony, towards himself as well as towards the whole world, by which he was capable of facing all things and, together, to make it so that she too could be able to face them, in turn.

Together with him.

This was his manner, his way.

Her Trip was the strongest man in the universe. The world could collapse on him and he would be able to emerge from the debris of the world, full of scratches and wounds, even deep, but alive and well and stronger than before. And he would have started to rebuild the world. And, in the end, the world would be more beautiful than before.

She had understood this from the very moment in which he had managed to escape the gloomy depression, the sterile desire for revenge where he had rushed after the death of his sister.

With her help, of course. But he had done it.

And T'Pol was not at all sure if it was more valuable the help she had given him at that moment, or the help he had given her, in the same juncture, to provide her, albeit unaware, with the thrust she needed to surrender, happy, to the love she felt for him.

And the wonderful thing, immensely wonderful, it was that his immense strength was now also her own strength.

Because the two of them were one.

Her face appeared staid and demure, as she replied, without hesitation, in perfectly vulcan-like way. "Command me, my husband and master. Your lowly wife, your property, is ready to your orders."

Trip laughed again and to T'Pol it seemed that even the half-light that surrounded them was being brightened by his laughter.

Still laughing, he picked up from the ground the PADD that, in the heat, she had dropped. He handed it to her.

"Read, my..." He chortled. "... _'lowly'_ wife. I burn with the desire to know more ..." His voice failed him, but he recovered immediately. He laughed aloud again. But with serious eyes. "... about this saviour."

T'Pol was silent for a moment, her eyes into his. Then she leaned forward and kissed him.

A sweet kiss, and tender and full of love.

When she opened her eyes, which she had closed in kissing him, and pulled away from him, she saw that he was watching her and that his eyes were quiet and serene.

And his quiet and his serenity descended in her too.

He laughed, softly, one more time. With real cheer.

"Come on, T'Pol, read. And do not be apprehensive either for you or for me. Remember. I am your outlet, but you're mine. "

T'Pol's eyes widened.

The truth and the power of this simple statement on his part struck her in the depth.

It was true. Nothing could dent them. Because he was her strength. But she was his.

Like, just now, she had demonstrated with clear evidence.

She leaned again against Trip, resting her head on his shoulder, savouring the vigour and the robustness of his arm, which was again arranging itself around her shoulders.

She looked at the PADD almost scowling.

She restarted to read with clear and confident voice.

* * *

 _ **End of Chapter Six**_

 _ **TBC**_

 **oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo**

 _Please, my friends, my dear readers._

 _Get ready._

 _Our human saviour is going to come on stage._

 _And, as you have understood, it is not a saviour steeped in goodness._


	7. The Ears of the Elves - Chapter Seven

**The Ears of the Elves**

 **By Asso**

 **Chapter** **Seven**

* * *

 _And so here we go again, my friends._

 _Another chapter, even this short, but, now you have it figured out, by the time my Muse wants so._

 _Anyway I hope you enjoy it._

* * *

 **The Ears of the Elves**

 **Chapter Seven**

 **oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo**

And it came.

The moment.

The blind rage vacated the minds.

Lucidity came back in them.

And the understanding about what to do.

A voice, harsh, rose. "Battle array."

The circle, all around, clenched its ranks.

A compact barrier.

Which closed any road.

The shields were raised.

The bodies behind them.

Above their edges, under burnished helms…

Bad eyes.

Thirsty for revenge and death.

From the side of the shields, the long pikes.

Their deadly tips aimed onwards.

Towards her.

The Princess clasped the hilt of her sword in both hands and lifted its blade.

Watchful and slowly, she turned up on herself all around.

And all around... compact shields in serried ranks.

And murderous tips of pikes, ready to strike.

And hard eyes and bad, who looked at her with icy hatred. Full of lust for death.

The voice. That voice. That rough and tough voice. Again it rang strong across air.

"Hit. Do harm. Do not kill."

The voice fell silent. Then it rose again, orotund.

"Quite another will be revenge."

Two sweaty palms and trembling grabbed the Princess's shoulders.

"My Princess ..." A weak murmur. A painful sigh.

 _Atana._

"Atana ..." A weak murmur. A painful sigh. Even her own voice. "Atana, stay down."

"Do not... do not allow this, my Princess!"

How much pain! Oh, how much! And Terror. In the voice of her handmaiden.

Of her ever friend.

"Atana ..."

"Make them kill us! Do not... do not let us fall alive in their hands!"

"Atana, we do not ..."

"Make them kill us! **Make them kill us!** Death! But not... not ..."

"They will not have us alive, Atana."

Atana's hands were shaking on her shoulders.

"Princess ..."

"They will not have us alive."

But her voice trembled.

And the nails of Atana sank in her flesh.

The harsh voice made itself be heard once again, loud and imperious. "On my order!"

The princess shook herself.

"Stay down, Atana."

Atana obeyed. Her weak desperate weeping accompanied her to the ground.

The Princess put herself in position.

One more time the voice rose. " **Now!** "

As one man, the circle tightened suddenly on the Princess.

* * *

"So what? This damn saviour? Comes or does not come?"

Once more, Trip interrupted T'Pol's reading with his sudden question, that let leak out all his impatience, his anxiety, even, blatantly displayed, too, by the way he leapt abruptly to his feet in front of her and by the peevish frown with which he looked down at her.

Despite everything, T'Pol could not help but smile.

She tried in every way not to show it, but she was not at all sure she succeeded.

No problem, though. Not that she found quite so much unseemly doing it with her T'hai'la. She had done it so many times with him! And, honestly, how could it be possible for her not to do it with him? But at that moment there was not even to get lost behind the stupid fruitlessly nagging thought of finding herself being smiling because of him - or rather, and definitely with more sincerity - thanks to him. At that moment her Trip had quite other things on his mind than staying to notice and maybe emphasize roguishly her not exactly vulcan amused smile.

Surak! How he was involved in her reading of the fable! Really he was like a child, on occasion.

Well, this, though, was not fair, on her part. That is, it was surely not only him the one who found himself so involved. She, too, was not joking, he would have said, in regard to the fable, even though certainly she did not show the behaviour of a child, namely the involvement typical of a child, and, above all, of a human child, as... well, as her Trip.

That would be the last straw, still talking like her T'hai'la! Wasn't it already enough all the rest? All her changes? Not that he'd not changed, far from it. Just think that not infrequently he managed to be quite logical and even slightly - just slightly - less impulsive. But she! Phlox snickered blatantly while having fun to point out maliciously to her that sometimes there was to wonder what had become of her vulcan stiffness and the why of such a fact.

Damned doctor! Almost worse than Trip, at times! Or, maybe, quite simply the contagious way of being and doing of her roguish better half, in human terms, had infected even the doctor, although - oh well! Obviously! - much less than her.

Anyway, thanks to Surak, if nothing else she was spared from having to share with her impetuous soul mate also his not so unusual childlike attitude.

At least... oh well, let's admit… at least for the moment.

And okay. Maybe it could also be possible this to happen. Even this. But presently, however, the way in which Trip let himself be involved in the fictional plots, almost giving the impression of having difficulty distinguishing between fiction and reality, to the point to seem, actually, a child, it was something that was not own of her. Not… not yet, here. Although... well, she had to admit it... although this was one of the reasons that made her feel so good in being with him, next to him, hand... hand in hand, at the movie nights.

It was... it was beautiful to see him participate so vividly in what was taking place on the screen. His was an enthusiasm infectious and addictive.

Like his smile.

Yes, T'Pol asserted within herself, with clear-cut conviction. It was beautiful.

And it was beautiful to listen to his colourful explanations about what she not infrequently found it hard to understand of what was happening in the movies.

But, all that aside, with regard the fable, whether she had or not the captivating childlike attitude shown by her T'hai'la… oh, she too had been and was continuing to be awfully involved in this fable.

Sure, she had begun to read the fable because of where it came from, and this was undeniably true. But it was also indisputable that, once she had started reading it, she had found herself immersed in it, hopelessly... hopelessly chained - chained, exactly so - by the drama... by the horror it was imbued with. And before even realizing where the fable was going and the… the disconcerting implications it brought in itself.

She... she had even asked her T'hai'la, clearly, without shame, to absorb within himself the horror that the fable inspired in her. She had begged him to free her from this horror!

And he was succeeding. And how! The very fact that she was pushed to smile for his so vivid taking part in the story of the fable was clear evidence that he was succeeding.

All the drama and horror of the tale; its odd, almost unnatural, strength to involve so intensely; the baffling corollary itself resulting from it...

All this softened, nearly faded out, in the disarming lightness of her boyish, _wonderful_ , Ashayam.

But what had she ever done to deserve him?

T'Pol couldn't help but smile again.

Well, she knew what she had done to deserve him, what she was doing and always would have done. The answer was simple. It was just the plain answer that her K'diwa would give her.

 _She loved him madly and forever would have loved him to madness._

Not exactly vulcan-like, in truth, and certainly extremely arduous to say out loud, but - to say it as her Ashal-veh - _damn_ true.

"Would you be kind enough to stop smiling and answer me, instead, my _obedient_ wife?"

Oops! He had noticed! Too much flickering of thoughts, in her head. She had got lost into them. Oh well. Nothing wrong after all. Was she or was not the vulcan wife a Human? And of _that_ Human? Inevitable that she would find herself to smile, and time and again, too. It was the price to be paid.

But it was not a price so bad, in the end. On the contrary. Although never ever she would have admitted it. Well, maybe not exactly 'never ever'.

However, it was true. She was his wife, by reason of the Bond. And she was Vulcan. So he was right. She... well, of course! Could it be otherwise?... had to be obedient.

Her face appeared tremendously humble and contrite. "Certainly, my husband and lord. But…" Her eyes, turned upwards, towards him, oozed repentance and remorseful apologies. They were praying. "…please, grant me to say that Vulcans do not smile and..."

Although so much engrossed in the story that he was unable to get full perception of T'Pol's tone, Trip could not avoid smirking. Well, no matter how things were, he was always him. "Ah yes. I forgot. Excuse me, wifey. My mistake." His smirk turned into a bantering giggle. "Just a false impression on my part. For sure."

T'Pol raised her eyebrow and continued as if Trip had not even spoken. "And I eagerly hope you won't take umbrage, if I point out to you, my husband and lord, that, probably, if you had not interrupted me, at this time the saviour would already have been revealed and you would have no need to get my answer to your question."

"Is it a rebuke, T'Pol? Are you telling me by chance to stop acting like a child?"

T'Pol's eyes widened. "But how can you think that your respectful, docile, obedient and humble wife can also only imagine, even for a moment, to reprimand her husband and lord?"

"Eh?"

"And how could this respectful, docile, obedient and humble wife also only think, even for a single instant, that her wise, mature, thoughtful, level-headed, logical husband and lord can behave like a child?"

Well, in all fairness, it must be said that Trip had gotten so impassioned in the fable that, at first, he had trouble to fully grasp both the words themselves of T'Pol and their very important meaning.

But then, in a moment, he realized.

For all the devils of hell and all the angels in heaven! T'Pol was joking! She was teasing him!

Well, sure. Not that it was anything new for her. She had already done it many other times. Indeed, she was... well, you could say that she had improved over time from the first joke on her part in the infirmary, after the two of them had got rid of those damned Orion females and before that wonderful kiss that she had given him in the corridor, the kiss starting from which they had put themselves at full gallop to… catch up on the lot of work they had to do.

But in that way! And with that manifest, blatant, brazen pleasure!

Never! Really never!

And this, what it meant? What did mean… _at that moment_? In those circumstances, precisely.

But it meant that she was out of the odd, one could say arcane, influence that the fable exerted over her! Or, however, that at least she was able to dominate it, that she had fully regained her self-mastery.

In other words…

In other words it meant that he had made it! Had made it... really! Even without fully realizing how he had managed to make it! Simply... a huge smile of satisfaction flourished on his lips and inside him... by being Trip!

The Trip she loved.

 _The impetuous child she loved!_

And the price he had to pay for all this was that of being teased by her so blatantly?

But for the horns of Beelzebub!

That was not a price to pay!

That was a reward!

A trophy! To be shown off!

A laurel wreath to be put on the head far more proudly than the crown of a king!

And the smile on Trip's lips became larger than that of Phlox to the best of his performances.

"You look pleased and smugly, my husband and lord. Can I have the audacity to presume that I may have some merit about it? This would be a source of great pride and pleasure, for your respectful, docile, obedient and humble wife."

Oh for the tripes of Satan! Better and better! Always towards greater things, or, to put it in Latin - and it was just fine! - 'semper ad maiora!'

Trip transformed his beatific smile into a smile of indulgent benevolence. Not easy. But he succeeded. And what the hell! Could he be less than his respectful, docile, obedient and humble wife, by chance? Not on your life!

"Your husband and lord, my respectful, docile, obedient and humble vulcan wife, can't be but pleased and smugly to hear his respectful, docile, obedient and humble vulcan wife make witticisms and joke. It is a clear sign that the husband and lord of this respectful, docile, obedient and humble vulcan wife was able to relieve the malaise of the mentioned respectful, docile, obedient and humble vulcan wife."

Suddenly Trip's smile changed. Like his tone. Like his expression. In all three, something manifested itself; something warm; a gentle warmth that made quiver T'Pol's katra. "What can be more beautiful for a husband and lord, who loves so much his respectful, docile, obedient and humble vulcan wife?"

At this point, it must be said, T'Pol found herself in not little difficulty. The game of jokes and witticisms in which she had embroiled herself... she liked it! Crazily! But that assertion on the part of him, on the part of her beloved husband and lord!

Difficult to continue to joke lightly, when you feel your heart burst with happiness!

But she did not want to stop the game.

It was too good, that game! Too… too liberating! Yes. That was the term!

It would have been... it would have been... _illogical!_... not to go on with that wonderful game! That game that made feel her heart so light, so free. So limpid. Cloudless.

She lowered her head gracefully, with glaring respect. "You are too good with me, my husband and lord. You make really pleased your respectful, docile, obedient and humble vulcan wife."

She raised her eyes. They were a transparent mirror of pure humility. "But please, grant me, once again, my husband and lord." T'Pol's eyes became fizzy. Literally. And her lips smiled without doing so. "As you are well aware, my husband and lord, Vulcans do not make witticisms nor jokes."

Well, this was the top! And Trip could not hold himself.

He laughed loudly, heartily.

And then he continued to chuckle, in a low voice.

And then to smile.

While T'Pol was looking up at him with laughing eyes.

Trip finally managed to regain a little composure. He assumed an air of dignified leniency.

He lowered his head, complacently. "Sure. I am aware."

Then... he smiled toothy. "What do you want, my respectful, docile, obedient and humble vulcan wife? I forgot yet again. All I can say is _'Excuse me, wifey. My mistake one more time'_." His broad smile became a jocular chortle. "Once again nothing but a false impression on my part. Could there be any doubt about that?"

T'Pol lowered her head in turn, once again, with grace and deference. Without lifting it, she spoke softly, her words oozing respectful gratitude.

"And all I can say, my husband and lord, is to restate that you're too good with me."

She raised her head. Her eyes sparkled, while looking at him. "Actually, you, my husband and lord, being you, precisely, my husband and lord, can't go wrong. By definition."

Then, suddenly, T'Pol jumped up, throwing to the air the PADD.

She stood upright just in front of Trip. She looked at him in a way that Trip would never forget.

She threw her arms around his neck, with such an impetus that he almost lost his balance.

Her arms, entwined around his neck, clinging to it as well as her body to his, pulled down his head towards hers, his face on hers, an inch from hers, so much that his mouth brushed against hers and her eyelashes fluttered against his.

There was no trace of badinage in her words and her eyes looked serious as never they could have been. Her voice sounded even husky by emotion.

"You, my beloved husband and master, never go wrong - NEVER - with your _'head over heels in love'_ vulcan wife."

Trip could not believe his ears, but T'Pol made sure that any doubt he could have to be victim of an auditory hallucination was dispelled far away from his mind.

Softly and passionately, while her lips went to lean on his, she punctuated "Head. Over. Heels. In. Love."

She enunciated distinctly each word. Well clearly. All. Also the last. That one so difficult for her to say.

Love.

Her lips met his and, gently and softly, they parted again to speak, but the words that they said were merged with the kiss.

The one that her mouth set down on his mouth. The one with which his mouth responded to hers.

The words got lost in it.

Only a sigh, imperceptible, between their mouths.

Trip could not hear them. But what did it matter?

They were all in that kiss.

Perfectly clear.

 _"With you."_

* * *

 _ **End of Chapter Seven**_

 _ **TBC**_

 **oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo**

 _I know what you want to tell me, the same words of Trip._

 _"So what? This damn saviour? Comes or does not come?"_

 _"You, Asso" - You will continue - "you told us that he was about to come on stage."_

 _Well, my dear friends and readers, that's true. However, allow me, I did not say_ _ **when**_ _ **exactly**_ _this saviour would come on stage._

 _Anyway, we're almost there._

 _But be patient! How could I go on with the entrance of this not exactly good saviour, in front of the wonder of T'Pol's words?_

 _Of that unparalleled kiss that she laid on the lips of her Trip?_

 _Believe me! Impossible to continue for the time being with the introduction of this damned saviour._

 _I had to stop there!_

 _But soon, yes, soon our saviour will come._

 _And our princess..._

 _ **Oh my goodness!**_


	8. The Ears of the Elves - Chapter Eight

**The Ears of the Elves**

 **By Asso**

 **Chapter Eight**

* * *

 _And here he is, the Saviour._

* * *

 **The Ears of the Elves**

 **Chapter Eight**

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

There was a shriek.

Shrill and mad.

Which did not subside.

Which did not decrease.

Which had no end.

It was hers.

Hers was the voice that was screaming.

In the effort.

In the fury.

In the fight.

Desperate and mad.

And blind. And hopeless.

Like her yell.

Rampantly whooped the Princess's voice. Roaring and furious and wild.

Like her sword.

Which revolved.

Which slashed.

Which maimed.

Which killed.

Which, in the end… fell silent.

Like her voice.

Like her crazy, futile struggle.

When lastly she had to inevitably succumb.

When she had to crash down under the overwhelming assault of the Humans' horde.

Under the suffocating tide of their bodies.

Swamped by them.

Covered by them.

Imprisoned by them and by their ruthless and cruel hands.

Her arms held firm and twisted dolorously.

Her bleeding mouth brutally clamped by ferocious and bad fingers. Reduced to a silence oozing ache.

Her hair savagely pulled and torn.

Her head pressed to the ground violently.

Her legs, her womb, her chest squashed painfully under knees pushing down hard on purpose to do harm; under fierce feet sheathed in iron boots.

Inert.

To the ground.

Crushed against its sharp and rough stones.

Immobilized.

Only her dilated eyes able to move. And scream. All her mute pain. Her mute despair.

All her fear.

Her sword torn away from her.

Far from her.

Inert.

Mute.

Like her.

On the courtyard's cold and hard floor.

Under the rays of a dying sun.

Defeated by darkness.

Vanquished.

Doomed.

Like her.

* * *

"Well, I swear, Honey. If this damn saviour does not show up immediately, I start crying." Trip smirked slyly, but also - T'Pol was certain she wasn't mistaken - sincerely. "As a child."

For the umpteenth time, T'Pol was induced to stop reading from one of Trip's sallies.

In other times - times very distant, remote, she was tempted to say - she would have remained irritated by his baffling odd sense of humour, that enthralled her and that she wasn't able to grasp. And even more she would have remained irritated at the thought that she had remained irritated. And even more for her deplorable being captivated by that sense of humour of him. And even more, _highly_ even more, at the thought that the one who had managed to make her irritated and irritated for being irritated, it was him.

She _hadn't_ to feel irritated! She was… she was a vulcan female, after all, for... for Surak's beard!

And even less she had to feel irritated because of him!

It was... it was unfair, here!

An underhanded trick on his part and on the part... on the part of fate! Just like that!

A devious and surreptitious way on the part of both - of him and of fate - to make her fall into the trap, to make her give in to the powerful and overwhelming lure that he exercised over her, that she had tremendously felt since the moment she had met him, without him even knowing, at San Francisco airport, when his bewitching smell had enveloped her for the first time and had claimed his right over her. **(1)**

But those were really distant times. Truly remote, in her perception.

Passed.

Totally and forever.

And... yes... even sweet, in being remembered.

Sweet at the thought of how those times, and the feelings of those times, were the foreshadowing of the present times, of the present feelings, those of today.

Of these days.

The days of their love. Acknowledged and wanted and pursued and showed with proud.

Days that would have unreeled forever, one behind the other, happy and refulgent.

Full of risks and dangers.

Of adventures.

Of hazards.

Of a life such as the one they wanted and were forging, year after year, day after day, hour after hour, minute after minute, second after second.

A life lived perilously.

But lived together.

 _Always_ together.

In the enchantment and in the sure firmness and steadiness of their loving each other… _unreservedly_.

A life very different from the one that a perfect vulcan female should live.

But she was not a perfect vulcan female. She was not a female who ever would have felt irritated.

She was T'Pol.

Proudly, fiercely, consciously T'Pol.

Weaker than the common - _'ordinary'_ \- vulcan females. More fragile.

And immensely stronger.

 **She - was - T'Pol.**

The vulcan female... bride of the tremendous Commander Tucker.

Tremendous. Exactly so.

 _Tremendous._

She remembered well what was being whispered about him, about her Adun, in the vulcan compound and up, up, up until to her homeworld, until to Vulcan, on those _remote_ times, in the days when she could not even conceive he could be her destiny. **(1)**

And instead he was.

Like she was his.

As he had made irrefragably clear to her and to the whole universe that day. That day terrible and... wonderful. _More_ than wonderful. Because, despite all the anguish, the _excruciating_ anguish that that day had brought along with it, it was the day he – her Adun - had finally brought in full sunlight, to everyone's full knowledge, their... love. **(2)**

Yes. She was T'Pol.

She was not a perfect vulcan female.

She was the woman of Trip Charles Tucker the Third.

The tremendous Trip Charles Tucker the Third. **(1)**

 **And she was happy!**

"Hey, girl! Mine was just a small interjection with no meaning or pretence, sprung from heart. I surely did not want you to stop again reading. What are you waiting for? Don't you want by chance me to really start crying like a baby?"

T'Pol looked, it must be said, a little dumbfounded at her destiny.

That is, at her ineffable Adun.

He was standing there, sitting on the floor cross-legged, right in front of her who was sitting on the couch, with his elbows resting on his knees and his face in his hands, in the same position in which he had placed himself after their pleasant ... interlude.

The perfect position that a human child would assume while listening to a fairy tale. Hard to believe that her perception in this regard could be erroneous.

He was standing there.

And was looking at her, with his stainless cheeky face, that made you want to slap.

T'Pol raised her eyebrow as her large eyes stared at the cheerful, flippant eyes of him.

Well, maybe it shouldn't have been entirely taken for granted that she wouldn't feel irritated because of his peculiar humorous sallies anymore. Actually, his ability to... how was that way of saying?... make her hackles rise, hadn't diminished over time. No, not at all.

And he enjoyed... as hell... managing to irritate her.

And, despite everything, he kept on succeeding in doing it. Like now.

Possible that she just could not avoid falling constantly in his damned traps? Yet at this time she was supposed to learn. And instead no. She had not learned at all. Actually, indeed, all she had learned was that... she liked to fall into his traps. Unheard of, but things stood so. To the point ... the point that having to become irritated because of him did not mind her then that much.

Rather... rather she liked it!

Stuff to... to slap yourself with your own hands!

Okay falling _'head over heels in love'_ with him, but also becoming as illogical as him - worse than him! - well, this beat everything!

Yet it was so.

With him, towards her Adun, in her interaction with him, her logic was... was fallen by the wayside, just as he would have said. Ended up on the scrap heap, to keep on with his idioms; replaced by another logic, different and much more difficult to handle, but… yeah, to want to see well - thing which _greatly_ heartened T'Pol - … not for that less logical than her old logic.

It was the logic of their love.

A logic made not only of cold logical constructs but even of feelings, that were at one with the logical constructs. This was the great lesson she had drawn from her Trip.

A logic _differently_ logical, and… well, honestly… much more satisfying!

Able to encompass inside itself even that other logic, to overcome it, to transcend it.

And… to make her feel perfectly logical in feeling pleasure to repay her mischievous better half in the same coin.

Thing that T'Pol decided to do straight away.

On the spot.

"My husband and lord, the last of the wishes of your obedient and respectful wife could be to make you cry like a baby."

It was Trip's eyebrow that went up, this time.

"Your obedient and respectful wife could really be not in posses of the strength enough to tolerate the vision of her strong and secure husband and lord crying like a baby."

Trip's eyebrow went a little more up.

"If you allow me, my husband and lord, I would truly try avoiding such an unbearable vision. Unbearable for your obedient and respectful wife, I mean. Too big is the consideration that she has of her strong and confident husband and lord, to allow her even only remotely to tolerate the sight of her husband and lord in tears. As a small, weak, immature child."

Trip's eyebrow threatened to reach the frontal hairline of his hair.

"Perhaps, my husband and lord, if you'd the goodness to let your obedient and respectful wife read once and for all without interruption, it would be possible to spare her this horrendous... that is, I wanted to say... this harrowing vision."

Trip's eyebrow was incredibly able to go up even more, for then going down suddenly.

Together with his jaw.

Well, he had deserved it. By now he should have learned that his obedient and respectful wife was definitely able to match him, if not to overcome him.

But it was not all bad, this. Oh no, not at all.

It was fun. It was nice. And it was...

Superb.

It was his pride.

The game that he had begun long ago with her had become a shared game.

It had become a game of love.

Of their love.

Entirely and only of them two.

Okay okay. Sure sure.

But… well, but pride or not, T'Pol had pulled his leg.

Alright. Nothing to say about it. Nothing to feel irked, far from it. It was a striking and reassuring testimony that, at the end of the day, his intent had been reached and, in effect, before, when she had begun to do so, and in a manner as never she had done it... well, he had felt definitely happy and relieved.

However...

Well, surely the way she, now, was continuing teasing him, definitely strengthened his impression; it demonstrated with clear-cut evidence that she, his… gracious vulcan better half, in effect, looked right out of that strange mental block, of the inner turmoil, in which she had seemed to have been engulfed.

Indeed, she looked even having fun, now.

Yeah. Sure. A big deal of fun. Even… a little too much.

She, apparently, had gotten great taste for teasing him and... and she showed to be very good at doing it!

She had driven back into his throat all his brazen irony, making him swallow it with appurtenances.

And with unarguable elegance.

Damn, if there was to be careful with her!

Thank goodness that she loved him!

Otherwise...

He tried to assume a demeanour.

"Oh... ahem... sure..."

Without much success, to be honest.

He became angry with himself. He folded his arms across his chest, still staying sitting cross-legged on the floor, in front of T'Pol. He frowned in the effort to speak with a little bit of coherence.

"I mean..."

Then, finally, he exploded, aloud. "Well, gosh! Let us stop, T'Pol!"

He lowered his voice, embarrassed for his verbal outburst. "You must understand me, Hon. Our Princess ..." He scowled, noticeably. "In short, I can not stand... I can not stand..."

He laughed, a little forcedly, in an attempt to tone down the clear impression he was offering - and of which he was well aware - to... well, yes... to be behaving, ultimately, truly like a child!

His brain started to whirl in search for an honourable way out.

A joke, one of his usual stupid jokes. Could it perhaps be useful, in the end?

Well, maybe not, but… oh well!... worse than that!

Trip tried. "But really, T'Pol!"

And he said the most stupid joke he had ever had the gall to let fly free in the air.

"Is that any way to treat an elven princess? Really impolite, if you allow me."

Well, it is almost certain that Trip would have added a few more words to his joke. So, just to be sure to make things worse.

But he could not.

T'Pol prevented him from doing it.

With her eyes, which abruptly widened.

With her hand, which suddenly dropped down the PADD on the couch and ran to her mouth and covered it, as if trying to hold back the words that were about to come out.

With the dart of her other hand, which rose up and started fidgeting nervously in the air, as if wanting to express by gesturing what the other looked like impeding her mouth from saying.

With the jerk with which she drew back and squashed her spine against the backrest of the sofa.

As if struck by something powerful. Disruptive.

Trip gazed at her from below, from his cross-legged sitting position, taken aback and scowling. And baffled.

And with an obscure, unpleasant, premonitory shiver running between her shoulder blades.

"T'Pol! What the he..."

He could not finish.

T'Pol catapulted herself forward, ending up on her knees before him.

She grabbed his shoulder with a hand, clutching it with such a strength to hurt him.

Her eyes were not the placid and confident eyes of T'Pol. They were open wide. _Wildly_ open wide. Frightened, even. And extremely disquieted.

They gave you the creeps.

As well as her voice, in spite of how it resounded low.

"Trip, what did you say?"

"Huh?"

Her hand clenched even more strongly his shoulder. Her eyes narrowed. Her voice went up an octave.

"I said _'WHAT – YOU – SAID?'_ "

"Hon! But nothing! A corny joke! Only that. One of my usual stupid..."

Her grip on his shoulder grew strong even more. Her eyes grew even more narrowed. Her voice went up an octave more.

"I know that! I know that was a joke of yours! One of your tremendous jokes!"

"Tremendous? Well, Hon…"

This time it was a true whoop. "Tremendous! Yes, tremendous, Trip!"

Trip was really dumbfounded. But what the hell was happening to T'Pol? Everything seemed fine, finally, then suddenly, at his quip...

He grabbed her hand and, with effort, broke away it from his shoulder.

Striving to ignore that damn shiver in the back and holding her hand, trembling – how he felt it! - in his, he tried desperately to bring back her into the world, endeavoured to restore somehow the conspiratorial, companionable, _delightfu_ l atmosphere of a moment before.

He struggled to smile, he managed even to chuckle, watching her in the eye with a gaze that he attempted in every way to make look cheerful and quiet.

"Hey, sweetie! I can understand that my jokes can also not meet your taste, but do not you think you're exaggerating? My joke couldn't be so much tremendous, as you say, to make you become so angry!"

"Trip! St…"

"Agree that I'm on the ball, but in all those years I have never managed to upset you so!"

"Trip, enough! Stop it! Stop it with your tremendous jokes!"

Oh oh! Wrong! It was not this the right way!

Trip let go of T'Pol's hand and raised both of his, in a droll gesture of surrender, still smiling even if forcedly. "Okay, okay, sweetheart. I do it. But, please…" And his eyes showed something… something… something like a… like a mute prayer. "…please, Hon. Calm down."

T'Pol didn't reply, which was not a bad thing, at that moment. And Trip immediately took advantage. Changing tactics, however. Enough with jokes. Oh yes!

His forced smile became a real smile, cheerful, yes, but also sweet, and his eyes looked like laughing for real, as his hand went down to clench again hers, affectionately.

"Yes, babe, simmer down, please. I mean, see to keep calm, I beg you. You know it. Getting angry might hurt you. Or…" And his eyes smiled with loving teasing. T'Pol noticed it perfectly. "…do you want me to pay in this way for my tremendous jokes, by any chance? By making me feel guilty for having made you feel bad?"

Well, it worked. Whether it were for the jokes; whether it were for the affection and the concern well evident in his tone, in his actions, in his eyes, in his words; whether it were for all of these things together, the fact was that it worked.

T'Pol kept silent, her eyes still wide open; indeed, if possible, even more; staring into his, but no longer wild. Startled. This yes. And... would you believe? ...in consternation.

Her mouth was slightly open, as if to say something without being able to say it.

Then her eyes got closed, as her mouth.

She lowered her face, while her hand lay motionless in his.

Then, after a few instants, she raised her head and showed again her visage to Trip.

Her eyes were open now. And they shone with something wet.

Her hand came to life. It squeezed his.

Finally she spoke. And her voice was low and uncertain. And shamefaced, too. It was well perceptible.

"Ashayam, please forgive me. Your jokes are gorgeous for me. I like them. Really, my T'hai'la. But ..." She sighed. "It is true that they are tremendous."

Trip chuckled. "Well actually my humour is a little weird, I admit."

"Yes! That is, no! I mean yes!"

"Excuse me?"

T'Pol brought her other hand to his cheek, to stroke it with infinite sweetness, just as much as with infinite tenderness her eyes caressed his.

"Ashal-veh, sometimes your jokes can be really tremendous, but not because of your quirky sense of humour."

Trip felt intensify the shiver in the back. "That is to say?"

T'Pol withdrew her hands in her lap. She sighed again. " T'hai'la, would you be capable of repeating with precision your joke? I mean, the joke about the Princess?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"I said..."

"I have heard, T'Pol, I have understood."

"So?"

"Well, I do not know. You know, when I make a joke, I do not analyze my words." He smiled. "It is illogical, I know, but ..."

"I remember it well, Trip. Word for word." T'Pol's voice sounded strange. Woody in some way, one would have said.

"Ah." Damn, how it had become perceptible, that shiver in the back! "And I said..."

T'Pol did not picked up Trip's unspoken request.

She looked at him with a weird expression for a moment. It was... sybilline. Then she got up, slowly.

She stared down at him with indecipherable eyes, as he watched her from below and was feeling the shiver in the back freeze his spine.

Then her cryptic stare faded away. She sighed deeply, as if she was gathering her forces. "Trip, you said ..."

She stopped. Under Trip's puzzled and worried gaze, she turned. She bent down and picked up the PADD from the couch

She straightened up and turned to him, with the PADD in hand.

The shudder in Trip's back become almost intolerable.

T'Pol looked at him intently. "You said, Ashayam ..."

Her eyes went to the PADD.

They sought on it. And they found.

And they did read.

" _Is that any way to treat an elven princess? Really impolite, if you allow me."_

T'Pol's eyes rose from the PADD. They turned towards Trip, who was sitting firm and motionless, his eyes fixed on her.

They were firm and motionless. Like him.

Of cold stone. Like him.

T'Pol spoke, in a low voice but firmly, without taking her eyes off his.

"Here he is, the long-awaited saviour, my K'diwa. He comes on stage, finally."

She paused. Just an instant.

"With these precise words."

* * *

 _ **End of Chapter Eight**_

 _ **TBC**_

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

 _Bloody hell! As Malcolm would say._

 _Bloody hell._

 _Could you think of a more appropriate imprecation?_

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

 **(1)** Do you remember my "Shore Leave", my friends?

 **(2)** Do you remember my "Destiny", my friends?


	9. The Ears of the Elves - Chapter Nine

**The Ears of the Elves**

 **By Asso**

 **Chapter Nine**

* * *

 _The saviour has entered the scene._

 _But you, my friends, have yet to wait to know him for real._

 _Have patience_ _,_ _my_ _friends._

* * *

 **The Ears of the Elves**

 **Chapter Nine**

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

"Ah no! That no!"

T'Pol stepped back in front of Trip's rabid reaction.

But not for the vehemence of such reaction.

Another was the reason.

Her abrupt flinch was due to the fact that Trip's reaction slammed into her face, unambiguously and bluntly, what already so violently had affected her and of which she had brought him in knowledge.

And besides, somehow she had expected this reaction. What else should she have expected from her impulsive and impetuous Adun? What else? After she had basically said to him that...

"Damn, T'Pol! I'm fed up with reincarnations!"

Precisely that! Just this, she had told him! She had told him that he was...

"A mass, _a jumble_ , of reincarnations! This I am, it seems! Wasn't enough the King? _The devil?_ Now I also must house within the damned soul of that bloody saviour? And a not too much gracious saviour, in addition, from what you told me. Maybe not exactly the devil, but, all in all - who knows? - sufficiently bad and ugly. You know, one must never despair."

He was on his feet now, in front of her, with his fists clenched and his gaze wroth.

T'Pol tried to calm him down. Thing anything but easy, considering that first she had to calm herself. And how could she do it without his help?

"Ashayam…"

Futile attempt. Even if she had known how to do.

"And you, T'Pol? Not enough Lil, for you? Now you must also be a reborn elven princess? Because, if I must be that fucking saviour, I do not see how you can avoid being that fucking princess."

T'Pol faltered, literally. He was really beside himself. And was pitilessly throwing at her face his and her fears. Also the fears that she still had not got to feel. Because... because this too... this too could be... and maybe **was**... true! He and she, once again... once again...

"Ah, splendid! Really." Now he had folded his arms across his chest and was looking at her with eyes overflowing with irate sarcasm. "Truly splendid having to give new life to the sufferings, the pains - the damnations! - of so many illustrious predecessors."

T'Pol's heart flared with fear. What her Adun's phrase had unwittingly brought to the light, and what the angry words he had just said brought with them additionally, was upsetting, _fearfully upsetting_ , and he was quite right in feeling distraught, exactly as she was. He was absolutely right in saying that... that he was fed up to the back teeth with reincarnations! Never another slang way of saying could have fit better than this one!

And how could she blame him if he reacted that way? Wouldn't she have reacted the same way if she'd been him? And, after all, wasn't it perhaps true that, at the bottom, she had reacted exactly like him, albeit in her own way? The way which was her way? And not his?

But the fact was... the fact was that, precisely because of the inner turmoil she felt exactly as it was felt by him, precisely because of this upheaval, if… if he had not calmed down, she was lost!

The violence of emotions, hers and of him, would overwhelmed her, without his help.

She loved the Trip impulsive and impetuous, she loved him even for his being so as well as she loved all the other Trips that he was capable of being, but now she was precisely in need of another one of these Trips. She now was in need of the Trip who was able to be cool and calm, who was capable of surprising her in seeing how he was able to keep the control of himself and also of the others as well as of any situation, showing off one of the many fascinating paradoxes of his character that so much lured her, that had conspired, together with all the other treasures that lurked in him, in making her succumb to the unfathomable appeal he exercised over her.

Without that Trip, now, in that moment, she would fall in the grip of fear, would become its prey, would be overborne by emotions which, alone, she did not know how to handle, was no longer capable of repressing, of controlling, even if she now had wanted it.

Which certainly was not!

Her emotional control was now her Trip and she was in need at this time of the Trip in whom her violent emotions could ease off until to get lost, or, even, until to be transfigured into pure joy.

And T'Pol made him become again conscious of such a truth, she made it come back limpid in his mind, in spite of his present - justified - discomposure, against which he reacted in his own way. The way of the Trip impulsive and impetuous.

And she did it in a perfectly clear way. With the weapons that she had learned from him, by resorting to his own words, by using his own jocular piquancy. But also with the outspokenness and the solemnity of her being Vulcan, without sacrificing her being a vulcan female, the vulcan female he loved so much.

She stepped forward and took his hand.

She looked him straight in the eye, with solemnity and seriousness.

And yet there was trepidation, in her bright dark eyes.

With solemnity and seriousness she addressed him.

And yet there was a faint trembling, in her voice.

"My Husband and Lord."

Trip was taken aback. He was still fuming, naturally, but that look of her, that voice of her, that way of her of addressing him, that way of her of taking his hand...

He could only stay silent and motionless watching her and listening to her.

"Shall I believe that for my Husband and Lord it could be possible to have no problem in making feel bad his vulcan wife? Shall I believe that…" T'Pol was silent for a very short moment. A pause for effect, brief and well calculated. None of her words had to escape her… Husband and Lord. "…he was lying when he said he would feel at fault if he'd allowed her to feel so?"

So T'Pol began. Using Trip's own words, using his humour, albeit in her vulcan way, turning them to suit her necessities, bending them to the innate as well as adamantly cultivated and exercised stern austerity of her vulcan mental structuring.

But then, her heart gained the upper hand. It spoke for her.

And her voice sounded strong and clear. And manifestly impassioned.

"Shall I believe that the man who was able to defy victoriously, for her - for the vulcan woman who would become his wife, _his property_ \- the enemy empty space clinging to an insidious slender thread; to vanquish, for her, the obscurity without return; to overcome, for her, the ordeals that the King of all evils, still for her, had obliged him to face; to triumph, for her, over the dark shadow that stirred inside him, coming from the mists of time... " **(*)**

T'Pol paused. Her other hand went up to his cheek, leant sweetly on it. "Shall I believe that this man is no longer this man?"

Trip was really speechless. Wide-eyed, his motionless hand tight in hers, he stood unmoving to listen to T'Pol.

To his amazing vulcan wife.

Her hand holding firmly his, while the fingers of her other hand stroked with lightness and tenderness the skin of his cheek, rough by beard, T'Pol stepped even closer to Trip. Very closer. Practically on top of him. Glued to him.

Her eyes glistened as they looked up at his face, and her voice trembled noticeably, this time.

"Shall I believe that my katra was mistaken when it decreed that you had to be my chosen one? When it ruled that I had to be your property? When it felt that you would have looked after your property, exactly as a caring Husband and Lord must do? When it entrusted me completely to you? When it put completely into your hands the life and strength - the strength, my Husband and Lord - of your vulcan wife?"

T'Pol paused again. She stepped back a little, without taking her eyes from his. She brought Trip's hand to her heart. "You, my Husband and Lord, know very well that in your strength lies the strength of your vulcan wife."

With a sudden snap, she jerked forwards. She clung tight to him, buried herself in him, into his arms, and her face in his chest. "And I know - I am sure! -" - How the muffled sound of her voice rang proud! - "that my katra was not mistaken!"

Then, without backing out of her embrace, she broke off a little her head from his chest, so as to be able to watch him in the face.

She raised her visage to his.

Her eyes were anxious, now. Even who had not been him would have noticed.

And her voice now sounded low and troubled.

"I am sure, my only K'diwa."

Well, certainly during all those years, T'Pol had amazed over and over again Trip.

She had astonished him when she showed to be, with him, colder than ice and when she enveloped him in a flaming fire of passion. And when she did both things simultaneously.

She had astonished him when she ensnared him in her iron logic and when she showed herself to him in all her emotional irrationality. And when she did both things simultaneously.

She had astonished him when she had proved to be refractory to any kind of sense of humour and when she had proved to be capable of learning his sense of humour to such an extent to appear almost equipped with more sense of humour than him. And when she showed to be capable of both things - of being devoid of any sense of humour and of being equipped with a strong, unimaginable, sense of humour - simultaneously.

She had astonished him by giving the impression to be incapable of loving him for real, unreservedly, and proving instead and at the same time to love him in the most passionate manner that could exist, really unreservedly. And managing to appear an ice lover and to be in reality a lover of fire.

She had astonished him with her constant vacillation, with her constant _"let us stay together"_ and _"we must split up", "let us love each other"_ and _"let's forget of one another"_ , and with her ending up with being tied to him so inextricably that they were now one only thing.

She had astonished him with her difficulty, her reluctance, her uncertainty in wanting to accept their love and with her total final acceptance of it, more - much more - than how much any other woman could have ever done and could ever do and will ever do. With her _wanting_ their love.

She had astonished him with her strength and her fragility. And with her being at the same time strong and fragile.

She had astonished him with her blind stubbornness and with her soft pliability, with her curt roughness and with her sweet meekness, with her bossiness and with her submissiveness. And with her being at the same time obstinate and yielding.

She had astonished him with her innocence and with her archness, with her candour and with her slyness.

With her purity and with her sensuality.

With her coldness and her passionality.

With her sincerity and her being mendacious.

With the ebullience of her rebellious spirit and independent and with the concomitant rigor of her formalism.

With the full complexity of her being.

With the marvel of the gorgeous challenge she was for him.

With the depth of her complicated love for him.

With the unfathomable depth of the love she was capable of inspiring in him.

Yes, infinite had been and still were the ways with which she was capable of amazing him.

But this time she had outdone herself.

Oh sure. He knew - he was well aware - that the old, incomprehensible, hostility she had shown for him at the beginning, a hostility of which he had been able to understand the hidden reasons only with the surprising revelations she had supplied him in the glorious days of their shore leave **(**)** , had gradually turned into a... the exact word was... _dependency_ on him. And how hard it had had to be for her, for the rebellious and independent vulcan female she was, realizing and accepting that only by entrusting herself entirely to him, to the very source of her inner turmoils, she would have conquered - in her own words! - a new and higher equilibrium compared to the one she had lost just because of him.

Yet she had done it.

And he had done it for love. For that sublime thing she called Ashaya.

Her Ashaya for him.

Her weakness - the one she had seen as a weakness, viz her attraction for him, a Human, which made her even more different than she already was from the other vulcan women, thing which frightened her; and the other weakness, the one that she had earned with her own hands and that she, with great effort on herself, had had eventually to accept, viz the weakness of having to admit that she had now no other option of having an own inner balance, even of being yet her herself, as a woman and as a vulcan woman, if not that of putting herself entirely in his hands - well, that weakness, still in her own words, had become for her a superior force. And even further when she had realized that, in hindsight, her deepest essence of vulcan woman had come to get truly fulfilled just in the acceptance of what she was. A vulcan woman in love and therefore entrusted completely, by choice dictated by her biological and cultural heritage but also by her own choice, to the man she loved, namely... yes... namely precisely to him!

Oh yes. He knew it.

He knew all this.

He knew this because... well, because he knew it. Was he or was not... oh well ... her chosen one? But he knew it also because she had said it to him and also quite openly, in truth.

But now... well, now she had done something more.

Now she had told him... had told him... and with great impetus, with amazing passion... and definitely without beating about the bush...

She had told him...

 _Do not abandon me. Never. Do not fail in what you are to me. Never._

Which was much more than saying that she now was entrusted completely to him, than saying that she now depended on him.

It was a fervent appeal.

She had told him...

 _I have given you all of myself. Remember you must protect me!_

She had told him...

 _I have given you all of myself. Remember you must have care of me!_

She had told him...

 _I have given you all of myself. Remember you must not betray my faith in you!_

 **And for sure he wouldn't have betrayed her faith in him!**

He had to stop! In that time she, his wonderful T'Pol, did not need the impulsive and impetuous Trip that he was so often. He knew he pleased her when he was so. But it was another the Trip she needed now.

She needed the Trip master of himself and maybe even the Trip a little roguish and swaggering, who knew soothe her distresses and her fears.

And the impulsive and impetuous Trip grew into the Trip, master of himself and a little roguish and swaggering, on the instant.

He smiled at her with well calculated roguish swagger, taking care to hold her well tight to him.

"Do you know, my dear vulcan wife?" His voice vibrated, warm and cheerful. "I must have lost my marbles."

He was gratified by T'Pol's raised eyebrow in the typical, puzzled expression of her that meant to say _'What the heck are you saying?'_

Very good! He had gone down the right track. _*Okay, man. Keep it up. Without stepping on the throttle too much, though.*_ He was to be the likeably scamp Trip, all right, but mostly the Trip master of himself. So ... _*Do not overdo it, man.*_

He chortled charmingly. He was good at this, and he knew it. And he knew that his T'Pol didn't ever succeed in avoiding getting caught by this... performance on his part. It was a great source of pride for him. And he realized spotlessly that that little-big miracle was happening again.

He brought his index finger to the tip of her nose turned up towards him and rubbed it affectionately with his fingertip. "Sorry, honey. I wanted to say that I must have lost my mind."

T'Pol nodded, taking advantage of this gesture to better enjoy the ravishing rubbing of his fingertip on the tip of her nose.

The relief was powerfully making its way into her.

Trip was calming down. He was returning to be the Trip nicely rascal and master of himself she needed. And his reconquered self-mastery was migrating into her.

He, her chosen one, the chosen one of her katra, had not been deaf to her appeal.

And her heart rejoiced.

Never would he have disappointed her! **Never!**

She nodded again, with conviction, still tight in his embrace and still with her eyes turned to his face. And still with the tip of her nose delightfully teased by his finger.

"Quite understandable, Ashayam."

She did her best, but, in truth, she was not so sure she was succeeding in giving her voice the right tone of ceremonious severity that her nature of vulcan female would require. Of course, that finger, which continued to tantalize the tip of her nose and, occasionally, even her lips, but - fortunately! - not the tips of her ears, didn't help, but as for inducing him to stop doing it... not even to mention it! No way! Out of question!

Anyway she didn't lose heart. "As you should have noticed, I myself wasn't immune to the shock of such a possibility."

Well, better. Definitely more appropriate for a Vulcan. Yes.

But T'Pol had no possibility to quite enjoy the satisfaction to be able again to play pretty well the role of the perfect Vulcan. Her indescribable human husband did not give her the opportunity.

He laughed aloud. His hand left her nose and ran to ruffle her hair. "But what have you understood, sweetheart?"

T'Pol perked up her ears. Ouch! Her unpredictable better half was about to come out with another of his disorienting remarks. But… eh but could she have anything to complain about this? No way! He now was what she needed him to be! And he was so because she had asked him to be so, satisfying as always her requirements, without even necessity for her to express them in full!

Certainly, though, there was to be careful. Saying that he could be a little baffling, _just a little_ , it was as saying that andorian glaciers were insignificant ice cubes, although... well... let's face it... although she too did not joke as to being baffling to him. And... honestly?... she felt a lot of taste at doing it. She had felt such a taste since the beginning!

She spoke cautiously. "I have not understood, my Husband and Lord?"

Trip for a moment did not speak. Simply he smiled at her in the way only he was capable of doing and in the way he did only with her.

And T'Pol could not describe the warmth and the confidence she felt spreading within her, by reason of the wonderful cheerful smile that broadened out across her Adun's face at her puzzled question.

Then the smile was followed by the words. Sparkling, like the smile.

"T'Pol! You and I should be happy about that! Anything but loosing the marbles!

"I beg your pardon?"

"But sure, T'Pol, my vulcan sweet bonbon!"

T'Pol pulled away from Trip, recoiled a little and looked at him with a raised eyebrow and with hands on hips, mixing her and his way of doing. "I admit the limits of my in all likelihood too schematic vulcan brain, husband. Would you be kind enough to enlighten it with the explanations that your pyrotechnic human brain is able to provide?"

Trip's smile became warmer than the sun, but this was nothing compared to the warmth of the smile with which he smiled to himself. He had managed to recover in the best way and his T'Pol was again absolutely herself.

Wearying? Maybe. Indeed for sure. But what ever could this sweet fatigue be in comparison with the joy of feeling her happiness? This was the true wonder of the Bond. Being happy in feeling her being happy.

And his happiness was the happiness to make her happy.

He took a step toward her and waved his finger under her nose, with the same exuberance he resumed speaking with.

"T'Pol, but do not you understand? I and... oh well, I and the King. Regrettable, to want to say the least, but undeniably true. And you and Lil. And now, perhaps, I and this goddamn saviour. And you and the elven princess. Always assuming that we are not taking fireflies for lanterns, I want to say always assuming that we don't see things that do not exist, even though that sentence that I have said and… and that you have read... well, that sentence seems to speak volumes. T'Pol, my darlin', but really don't you understand?"

He grabbed her and drew her to himself exultingly. "But of what the hell should we complain? If things are indeed so, it means, to want to see well... it means ..."

Her eyes grew dreamy. Then he snapped like a spring. He took her face in his hands and looked at her with sparkling eyes.

"It means that our love is sempiternal!"

T'Pol stood literally speechless, her mind in turmoil, her face marvellously held between his hands, her eyes wide open into his.

He gave her no quarter.

"Our love is timeless, T'Pol. It has always been and, I do not find it hard to believe, it always will be."

He continued, restlessly.

"Now it lives in us, but it lived before in others more or less like us and I am sure that it will live yet in others more or less like us, no matter whether good or bad, or good _and_ bad, like all of us are, in fact. It has existed since the dawn of time and perhaps since before and will exist until the end of everything and perhaps even beyond."

"Trip…"

"Am I exaggerating, T'Pol? Maybe. I'll admit it. But the King and Lil have existed and they have relived in us. Horrendous, the King, no doubt. He was... he was the devil! But was it horrendous, his love for Lil? Blameworthy, Lil, somehow. But was it blameworthy, her love for the King? And now this saviour, that you told me being not exactly a good fellow. And this elven princess, who, as to giving death, does not joke. I do not know yet if the two of them will end up loving each other, you have not yet been able to read the whole story, but something tells me they will."

T'Pol could not help but burst forth. "They'll do much more than simply falling in love with each other!"

Trip didn't grasp the subtle overtone, latent in T'Pol's impulsive and dashing asseveration. Certainly, at that time, he could not, so engaged as he was in what he was arguing with so much passion and... yes... with a sort of an odd yet cogent logic, T'Pol could not certainly deny it. Just as she... she certainly could not deny the preconditions of that logic.

The king... the King was not the character of a dark fairy tale. He had existed seriously. And seriously between him and Trip there had been what Trip was asserting. And Lil... she too had existed seriously. And seriously between her and Lil there had been the uncanny tie that Trip was claiming.

But the rest? The rest of what Trip was stating?

The possibility, the idea, which so violently had already stricken her and which now Trip was expounding in no uncertain terms?

The content of the fable… could it be _not_ the content of a fable? Could it be something that the two of them, she and her Adun, had... had already lived?

That phrase, that phrase of him, that phrase that was the phrase with... with which the saviour presented himself on stage...

Could that phrase be some sort of proof that they two, she and her Trip, had lived also in those other two? The Princess and her… her saviour?

But those ones, the elven princess and her human and... and not exactly good saviour, were characters in a fairy tale. Or... or maybe not? She had believed that it was so, that the tale could merely adumbrate, and this was per se sufficiently baffling, a truth that she would never have believed that could exist, a _disconcerting_ truth, well beyond what she thought could be hidden behind the human myth of the Elves, well beyond the strange idea which had pushed her to her research.

But... and if it had not been so?

If the fable had been actually _something more_?

That phrase! Oh that phrase!

That phrase had opened a gap through time, between legend and reality, and… and from it, from that phrase, her Trip had proceeded until to go even beyond what that phrase could mean.

With a logic that went beyond logic he had reversed everything, had transformed every potential fear into pride!

 **He had projected their love beyond time and space!**

T'Pol stood giddy by the grandiosity, by the... the _terrifying_ grandiosity of such a vision.

But Trip didn't give her any way even just of trying to face the impact of such a grand conception.

He drew her face to his.

"Do you see, sweetheart? There is no escape."

Vaguely T'Pol, in her confusion, realized that he was replying to her vehement declaration, sprung directly from her heart.

"For better or worse, my incomparable..." He grinned merrily. "... _princess_ , ours is a love of legend!"

And he kissed her passionately.

* * *

 _ **End of Chapter Nine**_

 _ **TBC**_

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

 _And now there are no more excuses, my friends._

 _It's time for the saviour to reveal himself fully._

 _For better or... for worse._

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

 **(*)** _I apologize, my friends, but here it would be useful to know something not only of the TV show in itself and for itself, but also of my stories "Destiny" and "In the Hall of the Mountain King."_

 **(**)** _That's right, my friends. Here is a declared reference to my "Shore Leave"._


	10. The Ears of the Elves - Chapter Ten

**The Ears of the Elves**

 **By Asso**

 **Chapter** **Ten**

* * *

 _Please, my friends, do not skin me alive._

 _The saviour..._

 _Oh you'll have to wait a little longer to know him._

 _Trip and T'Pol have stolen him the scene._

 _Hopefully he will not take revenge._

* * *

 **The Ears of the Elves**

 **Chapter Ten**

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

"Trip!"

With an effort on herself really unheard T'Pol found the strength to break away from Trip.

And also the strength to try to regain a little of her logic, of her _own_ logic, the one quieter, that did not fly as high as his, but was a little less turbulent, a little more normal. More... more reassuring! No. Not more. Less. Less _'frighteningly'_ reassuring!

It was paradoxical! It was paradoxical that now she felt so! Reassured by him, by what he had... he had conceived, and, at the same time, so... so terrified!

Possible that it were to be always so? That, with him, with the chosen one of her katra, of her heart, it were to be always so? That he could always be capable of enchanting her and at the same time of frightening her? Just as enchanting and frightening had been the feelings he had inspired in her? Exactly as they had been defined by the other older self?

That vision of him, of her Adun!

It was true. It was true that in some way it was reassuring, because in it, in its grandiosity, all fears flaked off, in some way, as if dispersed in its vastness beyond imagination. All. Even those, indefinite and obscure, that - after that so unexpectedly and so powerfully the sentence pronounced by Trip had given rise to a dismay which went well beyond the bewilderment that she had experienced when reading the fable alone, without him - the tale inevitably led with it, if, as it was unavoidable, one started to think about all the dire vicissitudes that the ancient events of the King and of Lil had brought with them. **(*)**

That vision was... was so majestic! So fascinating!

Too much, though!

TOO MUCH! It was otherworldly. Was shocking. Was... awe-inspiring.

It was so... so frightfully beautiful as to be even… to be even appalling!

 _Because... because it had the flavour of the truth!_

 _But a truth that transcended all logic!_

 _That took your breath away!_

And out of breath, both for the long and passionate kiss with which her fiendishly logical bond-mate had dizzied her and for the wonderful yet scary feeling that that vision inspired in her, T'Pol, panting, attempted to set down her feet again to the ground.

"The… _[huff]_ …the paths… _[huff]_ …of logic con… _[huff]_ … contemplate even… _[huff]_ … the possibility of fortuitous events!"

Trip did not answer. Panting he too, he simply looked at her with a keen eye.

T'Pol felt being scrutinized. And, indeed, she was.

And she knew that he knew how to scrutinize her very well.

Outside. A lot; and very attentively. Especially when she was… without veils.

And inside. As if she was without veils.

Finally he spoke. With his hands intertwined behind his back. Like it was her habit.

"Well well well. Let us see a little." He extricated his hands and began to walk slowly around the room. Then he stopped. He turned to her.

He began to stroke his chin with his hand, as if trying to bring order in his thoughts. But his tongue wasn't tormenting the inside of his cheek and T'Pol knew what this wanted to mean. It meant that he was not at all embarrassed or looking for the right words. He knew exactly what to say and where he wanted to get.

And his blue eyes were laughing cheerfully.

"If I understand correctly, you, my sweet _princess,_ " - and he stressed a lot that name; _princess_ \- "are telling me that after all it could be at all logical to think that that phrase - mine, I mean – might be the same that you have read and that, as you say, is the phrase with which our saviour appears on scene, merely for a simple, banal and fortuitous coincidence."

T'Pol found herself swallowing, but managed to talk coldly. "Correct."

Somehow that way of proceeding, now, on his part, was calming. Even if with his usual irony, he was using the paths of logic, of _her own_ logic, to bring order in the tumult of her heart. And this... this was good for her.

Now, albeit in the way which was his own, he was fully the cold and logical Trip who was of help to her and of whom she was in need.

And he had taken full control of the situation. _Just as it was of help to her and how she was in need._

Although in her discomposure, or maybe just for that, T'Pol found herself thinking that if she had been human she should have thanked wholeheartedly the God of logic, if ever there was one, for wanting to put her katra in the hands of that individual, so unpredictably illogical and yet so unsuspectedly logical - Unique. And hers! - who was her Adun.

Who went straight on his way, still with smiling eyes and with his affable subtly ironical tone. "So, still if I understand correctly, it could also be at all logical to think that we might have nothing to do the one with the other, in reality. I mean, I and that damned saviour, as well as, and even more so, you and that poor princess."

T'Pol found herself swallowing again. Very little vulcan, but very little preventable, too. Indeed, by no means preventable. Just like that. It was hard to try to deny what you felt being the truth. But she succeeded again in replying in a controlled tone. "Correct, this too."

"Very well." He approached her. He took her in his arms. He smiled at her. "In this case, my sweet vulcan better half, it is best that you meditate a little more or that you entrust yourself to some other means, perhaps superior, to give balance to your vulcan mind."

He winked at her and his smile became crafty. "What do you say, honey? Maybe it could be me; I mean I could be such means. I seem to have worked pretty well, on other occasions."

His smile became so crafty that more it wasn't possible. "You know. Hugs and kisses are helpful only until a certain point. Definitely it takes something more."

"Trip..."

T'Pol tried to free herself from his embrace, but without much conviction. His suggestion was awfully intriguing! And… and it was true that he... had worked extremely well in countless other occasions. She decided she could afford to indulge in his embrace and... and later... to surrender to his suggestion. But not now. And she told him.

"Trip... la... later. Later, please."

He deposited a very slight kiss on her lips. "I count on that, T'Pol."

She sighed in his arms and on his lips. "Me too, Trip."

He nodded. He let her go.

She put herself together. She looked at him with some suspicion.

"Why should I need to meditate a little more or... use other means?"

He smiled again, cunningly.

"Well, my little vulcan doll, it did not seem to me that your reaction to the sentence was properly controlled as it should be expected from a vulcan female. Now, I understand that my influence can be a wee bit harmful to you, but, honestly, the reaction appeared a little excessive, even with all the bad sway I can have over you. Unless... "

"Unless?"

"Unless this time the logic to consider fortuitous the sameness of my sentence with that of the saviour is a false logic, and the true logic has to be the logic to consider anything but fortuitous the fact that the sentences are exactly alike."

T'Pol took a deep breath. That was the truth. The _logical_ truth.

"Trip..."

"And in this case, honey, no one, not even the most rigid of Vulcans, would find nothing to find fault about your reaction. For a Vulcan the inexplicable is unbearable, in a sense. It can trigger reactions in him anything but vulcan. Am I wrong, honey?"

There! He had done it. Now he had done it precisely with her own logic.

 _He had found logical justifications for her behaviour._

She took his hand. She was sure that there was no need for words to express her gratitude to him. In that touch, in that gesture, there was all.

And the soft smile of contentment on his face showed clearly that she wasn't mistaken.

But he didn't content himself. He went further.

His hand was strong and protective around hers, as he spoke softly.

"Indeed, if we want to say it all, a Vulcan who hadn't been you, probably would have decided to ignore what was under his nose, by classifying it in the list of things not worthy of being taken into account or even to be considered lacking in any real consistency, because you can do without tackling what you decide to pass over in silence. It takes a strength far greater than that of an ordinary Vulcan, to have the strength to exhibit the reaction you've had the strength to exhibit, my peerless vulcan little doll. To have the strength to acknowledge a truth devoid of logic. I mean a logic that is not the everyday smooth logic."

It was true. It was unquestionably true.

What Trip was claiming could also sound offensive to the species to which she belonged, but, now, she had gone through such experiences that she could do nothing but recognize that there was something in what he said. More than something. In effect he was right. And a lot. It would have been illogical not to admit it. It would have been illogical, for example, to deny that the Vulcan High Command had obstinately negated any possibility of time travel, when not a few were the evidences that showed such a possibility. Evidences, however, that were outside the _'everyday smooth logic'_ of... the ordinary Vulcans.

And it was true that she was not an ordinary vulcan female. She was the vulcan female who had fallen in love with a Human, _her_ Human, and had proudly claimed her right to be his.

And it was true that she was stronger than any other Vulcan.

She was stronger because she had had the strength to follow her heart.

Was stronger because she had the strength to be different.

And she was stronger because she had the strength of her Trip.

She could afford the strength to be weak and this was a strength that no other Vulcan had.

This, basically, if not practically in no uncertain terms, her Adun had told her.

And later she would show him how much she was grateful to him in… a tangible way, doing with him what… he counted she would do.

And that she craved to do.

And that she would do as she had never done.

Later, however. Later. When… all the chickens of the fable would come home to roost, as he would have said.

For now...

T'Pol approached Trip, a breath from him.

She stood up on tiptoe.

She kissed him on the lips very slightly, with a kiss so tender and so sweet that she felt clearly through the Bond his ecstatic happiness.

That reverberated, strong and powerful, in her happiness.

For a moment they stood looking at each other in the eye without speaking, then Trip broke the silence with a little difficulty.

He cleared his throat. "You're ... uh, well ... you're calmer now, aren't you?"

T'Pol raised her eyebrow. "Vulcans never lose their cool. You should know well, husband."

He grinned. "Yes, indubitably you are calmer."

T'Pol prevented with determination her mouth from starting to chuckle as his. On the appearance of her eyes, though, she could not swear. Were they sufficiently deadpan? Um...maybe not, anyway… "If my Husband and Lord believes that it is so, I won't contradict him for sure."

Trip nodded with an ostentatious seriousness. "Very well. It is gratifying to have a so obedient wife."

With an equally ostentatious seriousness, T'Pol replied. "For me it is gratifying to be obedient to my Husband and Lord, o my Lord and Husband."

"In this case, I ask you to increase the degree of my gratification, wife."

T'Pol was taken aback. She didn't manage to prevent her voice from sounding a little uncertain. "What... must I do, my Husband and Lord?"

Trip, this time, spoke with real seriousness. It was manifest.

"Accept the superior logic of our love, my love. Without dreading doing it. "

T'Pol felt her heart tremble. Truly she was without veils, for her Adun!

"What... what do you mean, Ashayam?"

Trip took her hands warmly. "T'Pol, honey, we both have just agreed that the sameness of my phrase with the phrase of this saviour can not be a mere coincidence."

With a whisper T'Pol nodded. "Yes."

"And we have therefore agreed that once again we have to deal with something of us that... has already been."

T'Pol nodded again. She failed in saying yes out loud.

"T'Pol, my darling." Trip's hands clenched strongly those of T'Pol, which trembled slightly in his. "This filled me with fear, a mountain of fear, to which I responded in my usual stupid way. With impulsive anger. But then, driven by the need to soothe your fears, I realized that neither fear nor anger had to be the feelings I would have had to feel."

His hands were now a warm support to hers as well as to her heart.

"I understood, my love, that our love is so great to transcend our lives."

T'Pol was hanging on his every word.

He laid his lips on her forehead.

"Why being afraid of such a thing, my joy? Why being afraid to believe that our love has no limits?"

T'Pol felt her heart swell with something she could not even define. But which was ... was stupendous! It, her heart, and all of herself, drank the words of her Trip! They were thirsty for them!

"Is it illogical? Is it absurd? Meaningless? No. It is not more illogical, not more absurd, not more meaningless than what we, you and me, have by now well understood, my love."

He drew himself up proudly and proudly looked at T'Pol, still with her hands in his.

"I was your love in the flesh of the King and you were my love in the flesh of Lil. This is a fact, T'Pol. A love of the devil, certainly. A diabolic love. But still love. With uppercase letters. So much to extend infinitely forward in time, until the two of us. And now, once again, we learn that our love - and you, you in person, who already know the fable, you've let be understood that the spark will fire even between the princess and her saviour - is already lived also in others, besides us and besides the King and his wretched beloved." **(*)**

T'Pol's heart continued to swell.

"Is it illogical to think, my love, that it will continue to live after us? In others, different from us, but similar to us? In others who will be us? You and me?"

Trip's hands ran to her face and took it between their palms. His face went down, came up close to hers. His blue eyes merged with her dark eyes.

"Is it illogical to think that what I feel inside me for you, my treasure, is so great that it can not have started with the two of us?"

T'Pol felt her heart was bursting.

"Is it illogical to think that what I feel inside me for you, my treasure, is so great that it can not come to an end?"

Enough! _Enough!_ Really her heart was bursting!

Trip lowered his mouth on hers.

"Is it illogical for me to think that you feel within you the same thing that I feel for you?"

Her heart broke out along with her voice, as she threw her arms around her Adun's neck and hugged him so strongly as to do harm to herself.

"No! **No!** It is not illogical! IT IS NOT ILLOGICAL!" Her voice was almost unrecognizable, in its vehemence and in its ardour. "Nothing of what you say is illogical, my K'diwa!"

She heard his voice, a little choked because of her embrace that, though, not even remotely passed through her mind to loosen, resound lovingly jocose to her ear, near, _very dangerously_ near to its tip.

"So I was not exactly hopeless. I mean, in the end I've made it, I've been capable of learning a bit of your logic."

T'Pol felt a light heart, now, as well as the mind.

In a moment, in no time, he had made disappear all the clouds, every burden of heart and mind.

His vision, now, no longer elicited awe. It was solely and exclusively gorgeous and grandiose.

And even... even the fable, now, and what it implied and that he did not know yet and that acquired even greater depth in the light... of that sentence... even this was no longer so much unsettling, now.

It still was, of course. But not like before. His logic had made it... lighter.

Like her heart. Like her mind.

And with lightness, the same of him, she replied. With the sweetly ironical lightness of tone and of manner to which he was clearly inviting her; with which - legitimately, rightfully - he wished to worthily crown the long and powerful effort that she herself had asked him, and quite directly, and that he had made, even on himself, just to lighten her heart and her mind.

With that lightness of tone and of manner; and of heart; and of mind; with that, T'Pol replied, her mind and her soul well far from wanting to deny to him - and to herself - such a pleasure. But without even dreaming to unloose the hug. Not in the least. Just by shifting a little away her ear from his mouth. This yes, she did. Too hazardous the extreme proximity of his mouth to the tip of her ear. Just few small kisses, maybe even accompanied by some small bites on that tip and, she knew, what she had in store for him for later couldn't have waited anymore.

And she did it by continuing in that delicious Game of Roles that the two of them had put themselves playing, that evening. The two of them. He. The Husband and Lord. And she. The humble and obedient wife. It was a sweet game. A love play.

"It must be recognized that indeed, you have made great progress, my Husband and Lord. In all honesty, forgive your humble and obedient wife if she dares say it, it was extremely hard even merely to conjecture it was possible."

"Uh, thanks, my humble and obedient wife. A lot."

"Of course, your logic, however much truly improved, leaves yet a lot to be desired. Please, forgive again the temerity of your more than ever humble and obedient wife, my Husband and Lord."

Trip gently parted T'Pol from himself and, still holding her in my arms, looked at her with a quizzical and amused expression.

"What's wrong yet, in my logic, o my humble, obedient and _extremely sincere_ wife?"

T'Pol looked down, as if she didn't dare answer.

"So, my _hugely obedient_ wife?"

T'Pol did not look up. Her voice dripped with consternation and shame. "It is... maybe it is..."

She raised her eyes to look at him. Oh God! What a treat, those bright eyes and deep, which laughed and laughed and laughed, in all their vulcan sternness!

Trip swallowed. Only God knows how the hell he was able to continue the game, indeed, even just to speak, in front of those eyes in whose enchanted bottomless depth he felt literally sinking.

"Is…?

Even her face was laughing now, like those bewitching eyes she had. And like her mouth. Even her mouth was laughing, even though it did not seem to do it. That wonderful mouth that asked only to be kissed!

And her voice, too, was laughing.

"O my Husband and Lord ..."

Trip almost choked, but he managed to shirk the spell of those eyes. And what the heck! It was him the one who should have run the show! Not her!

"Speak, wife!"

This time T'Pol didn't drop her eyes.

And, slightly, almost imperceptibly, but this time really she smiled in speaking.

"Maybe your logic is a little too imaginative, my Husband and Lord."

That answer, that witticism which wanted to be and in fact was wittily joking and teasing, contemporaneously sounded knowingly and intentionally affectionate and tender, and it was just what was needed. In a flash it put back Trip decidedly at ease. Somehow his T'Pol had given him the reins back in hand, although... well, how could you deny it? ... deep down the one who constantly held the reins in hand was always her.

The reins of his life and of his heart.

But was there perhaps anything to complain about that?

Eh no! Not at all, holy smoke! He could be... like his logic. Imaginative, to quote her. And okay. But crazy surely not!

A broad smile blossomed on his face.

"Imaginative, T'Pol? So is my logic?"

"In effect, my Lord..."

"Well, you know it, T'Pol. I tend to be imaginative."

"Indubitably, my Lord."

"Consequently, also my logic."

"Logical, my Lord."

Trip could not help but laugh heartily.

"Logical, eh? Well, of course. You're right, T'Pol."

"I humbly thank you, my Lord."

"Don't mention it, my humble, obedient and _quick-witted_ wife. But tell me, that my logic is imaginative does it mean that it is lacking in rigour?"

"Let's say that it's imaginatively rigorous, my Lord."

Trip laughed loudly and cheerfully. He lowered abruptly his head and affectionately rubbed the tip of his nose against the tip of the nose of T'Pol, a gesture that surprised her but that, for sure, did not displease her at all.

Nose tip against nose tip, while his arms held her gently, he laughed again, softly.

"Let's say so, T'Pol."

T'Pol could not resist rubbing in turn the tip of her nose against the point of his. It was so nice!

"Let's say so, my Lord."

Trip stood so for some moments, with the tip of his nose against the tip of hers, with his merry eyes chained to the laughing eyes of her.

Then he raised his head and pulled away from her.

His look changed. The cheer did not disappear from his eyes, but something - a shadow, a thought - flowed inside their blue.

"T'Pol…"

T'Pol didn't speak. She waited for Trip to express what was going through his head. And, whatever it was, she knew that one should have never underestimated what passed through his mind.

He was imaginative, sure. Like his logic. And unpredictable, volatile, annoying, stubborn, impulsive, impetuous, quick-tempered, curt, etc etc etc, and of course, **absolutely wonderful!**

But he was also terribly clear-headed.

"T'Pol, I am imaginative, like my logic, all right." A quick amused smile made its appearance on his lips and in his eyes. "And, indubitably unpredictable, volatile, annoying, stubborn, impulsive, impetuous, quick-tempered, curt, etc etc etc. You know, you said it to me so many times!" The amused smile faded away and his face became serious again. "But you told me also that sometimes... "He laughed softly."... just sometimes, I am capable of being passably clear-headed."

T'Pol did not let it show, but inside her she could not help but wince. Even after all the elapsed time it continued to be still very hard even only to try not to remain stunned in front of the unpredictable and unfathomable communication paths of the Bond!

"You are well more than only passably clear-headed, Ashayam! You are terribly clear-headed. And not just sometimes!"

"Okay, okay. Thank you. Anyway, no matter if I am capable of being passably or terribly, frequently or only occasionally clear-headed, I think this is one of the times in which one can say I am so. And not a little."

"What do you mean, Ashal-Veh?"

His eyes grew intent.

"I am clear-headed enough to realize that, now, my imaginative logic is not enough, Hon."

"Is not enough?"

"No. We need something more, T'Pol."

"Something… more?"

"Yup." He came back to her and took her hand. He looked at her straight in the eye. "We need true logic, T'Pol. The logic that is able to really explain things. _Your_ logic, sweetheart."

T'Pol squeezed his hand. "Adun, your logic explains everything. _All_ things. And wonderfully!"

"Even how it is possible that I have pronounced the same sentence uttered by him? The saviour?"

"What? But... but Trip! What are you saying? Your logic..."

"T'Pol..." Trip also took her other hand and brought them both to his chest. "My logic has highlighted that the sameness of my sentence with that of the saviour means that there is a link between me and him, a tie that transcends time, as well as, more than realistically, between you and the princess. My logic has highlighted that, in all likelihood, that damn fable is not just a fable, and, frankly, I am persuaded that you had already well more than a few well-founded suspicions, in this regard."

Clear-headed? T'Pol could not help but sigh with pride. This attribute didn't justice to her Adun! And her pride grew even more, because Trip, with her hands clasped over his chest and his eyes looking at her with love, made sure that her pride couldn't do anything but increase.

"And it is not hard for me to believe, sweetheart, that just in the veracity of what that fable carries with it - a veracity perhaps before, I mean before I had uttered that phrase, by you only suspected or, who knows, too difficult to be accepted by you without bewilderment, but fully recognized after the fact - precisely therein lies the reason of the paralysing disconcertment that I had read in you, and that I absolutely had to alleviate, till to bring you back to your usual control of yourself and of things." He smiled sweetly. "And of me."

He took a slight breath.

"Successfully, thank God, it seems to me, and that's why now, I speak so openly, Honey. I really believe that right now I can do it."

Another soft chuckle made itself heard from him. "It seems really to me that there is no longer any risk that my pearl oyster now may shut herself up inside her half shells, like she tends to do when she sees waters become turbid around her."

Clear-headed, sure! And absolutely to love! T'Pol found herself thinking that if she had not already been madly in love with him, she would decide there, on the instant, on the spot, that it was really the case for her to fall _head over heels_ in love with him.

But it was not over yet.

"And, my love, about the fact that now we need a logic a little less imaginative than mine, a logic as precise and rigorous as yours ..."

He paused and batted briefly his eyes, as his tongue began to harass the inside of his cheek.

This time he was looking for the right words, it was clear for T'Pol, who was impatiently expecting for him to say what troubled him. This, too, was clear, just as it was also clear that he wished her to find some rigorously and not imaginatively logical explanation for the question that was stirring in his mind and this increased even more her pride, because her decidedly clever Ashayam expected for her to arrive where he could not. He... he believed her capable of everything! Well, in a positive sense, of course. Even though... oh well, all things considered, he just wasn't then altogether wrong when he said to her… _'You're capable of everything, woman!'_ And, this time, not exactly in a positive way.

He seemed to have found the words he searched for, in the end, or, at least, he believed he did.

"Honey, sweetheart… "

He squeezed even stronger her hands on his chest. She had her eyes lifted to his face and was waiting… we should say _anxiously_.

"My logic... my imaginative logic... is able to explain, I think, why we... we love each other so much. And it is because our love is so great as to be greater than us."

T'Pol felt her heart accelerate.

"Our love is so great, T'Pol, so great! It can not be constricted into the quick blink of the eye of our lives!"

T'Pol felt her heart rush away at a gallop

"We have already got proof of that, with the King and with Lil, and now..." Trip left his phrase pending, but not his thought. "That sentence can not be a mere coincidence, T'Pol. This is a fact. It means that I have already experienced the love that I feel for you not only into the King, but also into... into the saviour. I was him and you were the elven princess who, I am certain even if you haven't said it clearly, has loved him. And not with an unrequited love. I am certain of that too, even if not even this, you have said clearly. Our boundless love has lived in them too."

Was it really possible that her heart could gallop so wildly?

"But... even if that sentence is proof of what I say, of what we both know... how... how is it that it is reported in the fable? I mean... I mean... "

Trip fell silent again, while T'Pol began to understand the reasons of his disorientation. Which were then also hers. In fact... in fact he was simply bringing into the open what lay also in her mind.

"T'Pol... it's as... it's as ..."

"As if the drafter of the fable had explicitly wanted us to be able to read the phrase."

"E... exact, sweetheart!"

"As if, being aware of that phrase - your phrase, my Adun - the drafter of the fable had wanted it to be expressed in it, it to be the phrase with which the saviour comes into the picture so as to..."

"So as to make us understand that the two of us... that we have a lot to do with the princess and her saviour!"

"As... as if he, the drafter of the story, knew that the two of us would read it!"

"And that therefore... therefore..."

"We would have drawn our conclusions!"

For a long moment there was silence. Only the eyes spoke, wide open and amazed.

And scared.

And how could you be not scared in front of the inexplicable? If this inexplicable lengthens its scary shadow over you? How could you not be scared if another world, a world different and alien and unearthly, a world that you have not even thought could have any consistency, that you had always placed in the realm of the non existent, suddenly bursts into your normal and quiet and well ordered world? How could you not be scared if you realize suddenly that this other world has its own reality? And that it's sucking you up into this scary - otherworldly - reality?

It was Trip who broke the silence, while their hands now clung to each other with such force as to be livid.

"But... but... but T'Pol! This is… this is... this is totally absurd!"

Abruptly he let go of her hands and looked at her, frowning.

"T'Pol! What logic can ever explain all this? Mine, certainly not. Yours... yours can do it, hon. Only yours." He smiled at her. A strained smile. "Come on! See to work hard, girl! I know you can do it."

"Trip..." Uncertain. Unsure if having to feel proud for his trust or startled by it. "I don't know if I…"

But he didn't pay heed to her.

He pulled away from her and began to wander around the room, gesticulating, but not so much agitated, after all.

Intent, rather.

He was speaking both to himself and to her.

He was trying to circumscribe the ambit of the things that had to find an explanation, if there ever had been one.

"Someone who knew that we would have read the fable. Someone who knew that I had pronounced - or should I say 'that I would have pronounced'? - that phrase. Someone who has put on purpose that phrase in the fable, so that we could read it. Someone who wanted us to be able draw our conclusions, who wanted us to be able to grasp the connection between us and the princess together with her goddamn saviour. "

All at once he stopped talking and halted. He raised his head, as if struck by a sudden thought.

His lips moved. They murmured something. T'Pol's acute hearing grasped the words, as much as spoken in an extremely low voice. _"Our conclusions."_

He turned abruptly toward her, who had remained motionless watching him and listening to him.

With an excited look, he came back to her.

"T'Pol! Our conclusions!"

T'Pol looked at him blankly. "Ashayam ..."

"But... do not you see, honey?"

This time he was agitated. Quite agitated.

Conscious, he tried to calm down. He had to - _he absolutely had to_ \- make clear to her his... his conclusion!

With great effort, he succeeded. He spoke in a manifestly forced calm.

T'Pol was staring at him, tense and attentive. She seemed to feel her ears pricked up, literally, to hear him better.

"What's the sense to make sure that we could be able to draw the necessary conclusions only for the sake of it? I mean, only to make us able to become aware of this damned tie between us and the princess and her saviour?"

T'Pol continued to watch him blankly, looking confused.

He took her face in his hands. Practically he spoke on her face.

"T'Pol, my sweetness, the one who has taken the trouble to do all this, the devil only knows how and in what way, can't have done it without a purpose and this purpose can not simply be to make the two of us aware of our… of our further previous incarnations. Okay, now we know. And then? Beautiful, wonderful, knowing that our love is timeless, but then what? Is this all? All this mess just to let us know?"

He paused dramatically.

"T'Pol! He, whoever he is or has been or will be, expects us to do something! Maybe ... maybe something that has to do with the fable! I do not know! Maybe it's the fable in itself that hides this something, indeed, that may be in and of itself... a message for us. I know, I know. This is not true logic. This is still my imaginative logic. But... but is it perhaps more illogical that the fact that in the fable, in the mouth of the saviour, there is the same sentence that was in my mouth? "

T'Pol gasped. Literally.

In her mind, as in a whirling kaleidoscope, imperfectly, confusedly, incompletely, fragments of sensations, of strange perceptions, that she had had by reading the story and that had continued to stir restlessly inside her, began to connect with each other, and she realized, at that moment, that those sensations, those perceptions, had been the cause of her bewilderment, even more than the disconcerting reality that the fable carried with it and that her T'hai'la did not know yet.

And now, now that it had happened... what had happened, now, after... after that sentence and everything it carried along with it... now those sensations, those perceptions, became sharper and... and stronger. Even more disconcerting. And, even though yet lacking in real basis, in true and demonstrable consistency and substance, however, they were starting to emerge into the open, were beginning to reveal themselves in their preposterous... _preposterous but, perhaps indeed true_... reality.

The reality that her Adun had dangled in front of her eyes.

Her Adun!

Her _incredibly clear-headed_ Adun!

He did not even know how he had possibly been capable of hitting the mark! And... and what this could possibly mean or… or perhaps did mean for real!

Her Adun.

Her Adun asked her to find with her logic the answers to his questions, including the one implicit in his last impassioned assertion, namely what the two of them were supposed to do, now that they knew. And, in his lucidity, in his inexplicable ability to intuition, that so often had been for her a source of wonder, he put forward the possibility - and also in this he could not even imagine how much he, possibly or actually, had hit the mark! - that the 'something' the two of them were supposed to do could be concealed in the fable, substantially that the fable per se could be the means by which it was communicated to them not only that they were supposed to do 'something', but also what this 'something' was!

And he asked her to discover with her logic the planner of all that!

Well, her logic had, possibly, the answers to his questions! Possibly! Yes! Possibly! Just possibly. Because... because these answers... these answers were so… so out of logic as to appear… as to appear illogical!

And yet... and yet...

She… oh she absolutely needed to re-read the fable in the light of their new knowledge, to see if her sensations and perceptions, which now were acquiring more distinct and precise contours, although… _imaginative_ , were really provided with some logic, some _true_ logic, to quote him, her T'hai'la. Yes, now she really needed to re-read the story, even more so than it had been necessary early in the evening, when he had asked her to do so. And she had to do this with him. Absolutely with him! Much, much more than at the beginning! Because only together with him she could try to give some sort of logical form to the answers that, now, circled shapeless in her mind and that he - and she - were seeking.

But... an answer... a truly logical answer... she already had it. For sure.

And that answer... she had to give it to him!

The answer…

 _The planner!_

His voice shook her by the whirlwind of her thoughts.

"T'Pol! What's wrong? What have I said? Shut... shut your little mouth, my love! Do not... do not make me worry!"

T'Pol grabbed again his hands on impulse. She squeezed them.

"Ashayam! Do not worry! Everything right. I'm fine. I was... I was thinking."

Trip nodded, a little uncertain. "Ah, okay."

Then he narrowed his eyes. "Were you thinking about how to give an answer to my questions, T'Pol?"

In a whisper she replied. "Yes."

"And... was your logic able to figure out who might be the unknown friend who has masterminded all this pandemonium? And what on earth he wants from us?"

T'Pol recoiled. She was insecure, was uncertain. Perhaps, ultimately, she was wrong.

She lowered her eyes, under the attentive gaze and tense of him.

And nonetheless that answer, the one she already had, was logical. Absolutely logical. Logical in the sense that he, her Ashayam, asked her it to be. Yes. It was.

She raised her look and watched him so hard that he recoiled in turn.

She approached back him, almost rushing and vehemently.

She took her hands again, looking at him with an uneasy glance.

"Trip..." Her voice, too, was unquiet, and nevertheless, in some way, it resounded even firm. "For the moment I think I can give a logical answer to only one of your questions, namely about who may have put in the mouth of the saviour the sentence that you said."

"Oh, my gosh! And does it seem nothing? And... and who would be the wag, T'Pol? I mean, whom should we thank for having put on this whole mummery?"

Inadvertently, T'Pol held her breath.

"Ashayam, in order to report that phrase in the fable and make it be said by the saviour, the _'wag'_ or even the… _'wags'_ in question must have been aware of the sentence as well as that it had been pronounced by you."

"Well, sure. I think that, at least in part, I myself have already stated this. So then, sweetheart? Who…? Mh… _wags_?"

And okay. He had pricked up the... antennas. The plural had not escaped him. T'Pol sighed deeply. She squeezed more strongly Trip's hands.

"T'hai'la, if you pay close attention, there can be no doubt whatsoever about who might be aware of all that. Think carefully, my Adun. There can be no one else except…"

T'Pol stopped without finishing the sentence, and waited for Trip's reaction.

That, at first, did not come.

Then a light went on into his eyes, which right after widened dramatically, along with his mouth.

It took a while before he could be able to bring his lips near to one another again, as much as it was enough to him to articulate a few words or at least to try.

"But... but... but..."

Then, finally, a sentence that made sense succeeded in coming out of his mouth.

"But it wasn't me the one with an imaginative logic?"

T'Pol let go abruptly his hands. She crossed her arms over her chest and looked at him almost sullen.

Bad thing, for her, having to admit reluctantly inside herself that, after all, he was not wrong. So much that she decided... that he was wrong.

"My logic is not imaginative. My logic is… logical. And that's that."

Not precisely in keeping with the behaviour of a docile, obedient and respectful vulcan wife, but... when it takes it takes.

Despite everything, Trip found himself smiling.

She was gorgeous when she was pouting.

And then... come on... she was right.

Yeah. Just so. In effect, as much as it could sound… imaginative, her _logical_ conclusion was absolutely… logical.

And, while continuing to smile, he, taking again her adorable sulky face in his hands, told her. Plainly.

"Honey, do not get angry. You're absolutely right, and I'm the usual cabbage head."

All the irritation of T'Pol faded abruptly. "Ashayam... do not exaggerate." How wonderful his hands that held her face so, and that look of him that stared at her that way. So full of love. "It is at all understandable that my conclusion may sound imaginative, but..."

"But it is a logical conclusion, sweetheart. Perfectly logical, in the true sense of the word."

His lips went down to touch hers.

"We, the two of us, have gone through such unbelievable experiences that having even just the mere idea to deem your logical conclusion as imaginative, it would be, to say the least, totally illogical."

He softly laughed at his own joke, then lifted his face, gently released hers and stepped away from her.

He stopped nearby, turned to her and looked at her seriously.

"However, T'Pol ..." He paused. His voice grew severe. "Please, stop being reticent. If you have been able to reach such a conclusion, it's because, I'm sure..."

He stopped speaking again, then resumed with a sigh.

"T'Pol, my joy, do not you think that the time has come to tell me something more about that fable? That fable that speaks of Elves and Humans... and of children? Special children. Like the ones - your own words - whom we two might have. Do not you think that now there is no more reason to feel dismay for that fable, whatever may be the deep reason? Your... logical conclusion, my love, goes far beyond any possible dismay."

He took once more a short pause, then started to talk again, watching her with eloquent eyes.

"What is there, in that fable, in addition to elven princesses, human saviours and children of elven princesses and... is not it? ... of human saviours, children similar someway to the children of vulcan females and... human engineers? What is there, in addition to all that, that has baffled you so much? And even before we two, you and me, were sucked into the bewilderment provoked by that phrase?"

Another pause. Then, on his forehead deep furrows appeared.

"T'Pol..." His hand fidgeted, expressively, like to give strength to the sudden thought that had formed in his mind. To his question. "From where does it come, that fable? Where did you find it?"

T'Pol remained still and silent. She looked... strange. Yes. It was so. There was something strange in her. Something, inside her, which, despite everything, continued to trouble her.

Trip approached her. "T'Pol. Sweetheart." With the most soft of voices.

She sighed deeply. Then she shook herself. She looked down for a moment. Then she raised her eyes. She looked at him with those large, liquid eyes of her, which always were capable of melting his heart.

She sighed again.

And finally she spoke in a tiny voice.

"When I started my research, I obviously thought that, if my suspicion had some basis in reality, I was supposed to turn my attention to Earth, of course, but also to Vulcan."

She stopped talking, as in difficulty to continue.

Well, sure. She was basically saying to him well clearly that she had really devoted herself to that weird - illogical - research with zealous scientific rigour. Her usual zealous scientific rigour. And, certainly, it was hard for her to admit so openly that an effort so intense on her part, in all likelihood an effort worthy of a better cause, had been profusely lavished by her in that research. It was... logical... that she felt embarrassed.

Trip grabbed her hands. He looked at her with a gaze full of understanding.

"T'Pol, darling. Do not feel uncomfortable. As you see, in the end you have been definitely right in applying yourself so hard to this research."

He chuckled.

"Well, honestly hard to tell if we will not have to regret it, but about the fact that the result of your research is noteworthy... well, nothing to say. Not at all."

Her chuckle turned into an open and loving smile.

"And then, sweetheart, for me it wouldn't really be possible to recognize my T'Pol if she had not devoted herself to her research with her usual zealous, commendable, scientific rigour."

T'Pol's face brightened. Literally. As her eyes.

As her voice.

"Thank you, my T'hai'la. I'm... glad you think so."

Trip smiled again. He squeezed her hands by way of encouragement.

"So then, hon? This research?"

T'Pol resumed speaking, always with her hands in his. And admittedly with greater fluency. With greater ease.

"Initially, I felt disheartened, T'hai'la."

"You..."

"Yes. You see, it is always disheartening committing to a research and discovering that you do not get anywhere. I really think you can understand me."

"Oh yes." His hands squeezed hers affectionately. "I understand you well, T'Pol."

She nodded. Then, after a little sigh, she continued.

"Nothing. I could not find anything able to corroborate my idea."

She let go his hands and began to wander around the room, talking both to herself and to him, just as he had done before.

"Earth was filled with legends and essays about the Elves, of course, as well as literary works, just like "The Lord of the Rings", which talked about them but which obviously were not to be included in my research. Yes, really lots, mountains of such stuff, but nothing able to support in any way my thesis. And as for Vulcan... nothing. Absolutely nothing. On Vulcan, nothing that spoke of the Elves. I used all possible search keys... _non-Vulcans with pointed ears... myths and legends on the ears of the Vulcans... legendary encounters between Vulcans and other peoples..._ and many, many others, well aware that the term Elves could not exist on Vulcan. But nothing. Just nothing."

T'Pol stopped her going in circles around the room and turned towards Trip, who was following very carefully every move and every word of her.

She crossed her arms behind her back, in the pose that she assumed, Trip knew it, when she had to show a quiet and confident air (and, perhaps, she just was not precisely quiet and confident).

Trip encouraged her with kindness. "And then, T'Pol? What did you think of doing? Because no doubt you've thought about doing something, haven't you?"

She nodded and, in some way, she put on an expression that resembled a little the expression that he tended to put on when he had to tell her something a little bizarre and feared that she could disapprove.

With that expression on her face, she at last made up her mind to reply to him.

"I got an idea a little bizarre."

Difficult, very difficult for Trip not to smile in his sleeve, at least as difficult as it was for him being mistaken about her and, to tell the truth, he could not avoid it.

He tried to remedy in front of the raised eyebrow of T'Pol, but his own innate little evil genie put a spoke in the wheels to him. Everything he was capable of saying was... "Mh, really pestiferous, my influence over you, isn't it?"

For a moment it seemed that T'Pol would want to incinerate him not exactly only with her look, but then her gaze softened. The eyebrow came down and a playful light was kindled in her eyes.

"I can not deny it, but we must say that your influence may sometimes be also quite useful."

Trip chuckled slyly. "Glad to know, sweetie." Then he winked. "As in this case?"

T'Pol seemed about to wink in turn. Maybe - but was it ever possible? - she, imperceptibly, did it really. "As in this case."

And then... she surpassed herself.

Her eyes became hazy and vaguely inattentive, as if she was mulling over something and her tongue began to haunt the inside of her cheek. Then she stopped doing that and spoke, watching Trip well straight in the eye, with a look that couldn't be more serious and with an unnaturally deep voice, a voice that wanted to be not her voice, however not without - before - making wander for a little while yet the tip of her tongue alternately along the inside of both her cheeks.

 _"Damn it! And why not? After all it's not said that what I seek has necessarily to be on Vulcan, holy smoke! Perhaps I ought to look elsewhere! Bloody hell! Yup! It's so!"_

Trip could not react immediately to T'Pol's performance.

He was too busy trying to make go back up his mandible from the ground.

Then, only God knows how, he recovered. And he did not laugh. No. He simply exclaimed: "You are fantastic, T'Pol!"

She bowed her head graciously. "Thank you, my Husband and Lord. Does this mean that you have appreciated my imitation, my Lord?"

"If I have appreciated? Wife! I seemed to see and hear myself!"

"I am glad that you think that I was good at imitating you, my Lord."

"You have been well more than good! You have been superb! Really!"

"I humbly thank you, my Husband and Lord."

"Stop thanking me, T'Pol. You've been simply amazing, in addition to being surprising, of course. And that's that. Simply amaz ... oh, ahem ... T'Pol?"

"Yes, my Lord?"

"But for real... ahem... for real, I am in the habit of speaking by employing so many imprecations?"

"Well, my Lord ..."

"Really, T'Pol?"

"Hem... not just like that, my Husband and Lord, but… please forgive again your very sheepish wife… wanting to be honest..."

"Oh! I... I'm sorry, T'Pol! I'm really sorry. I promise I'll improve. I swear. I will."

T'Pol's eyebrow rose a bit. "You will?

"But yes of course, darn it!

"I see, o my resolute Husband and Lord."

"Oh for crying out loud!"

"Precisely."

 _*Oh shit! Double, triple, quadruple shit! And now, my clever engineer as well as matchless jackass?*_

Yeah, and now? What could he ever do to redress?

"T'Pol, my darlin ', I'm sorry, please, I ..."

"I like you as you are, my Adun. Do not change."

And for the umpteenth time that evening, Trip found himself trying to recover in front of the continuing source of wonders and surprises that was his T'Pol.

But what a splendid source of sweet wonders, what a wonderful source of sweet surprises was her!

"T'Pol! Have I ever told how much I love you?"

"Not enough, T'hai'la." And an impish spark danced in her eyes. "

"I believe that I shall never tell you enough, T'Pol. I love you too much."

And the impish spark became a blaze shining with joy.

Trip coughed slightly, embarrassed and happy at the same time, while T'Pol remained to watch him without speaking, with that dancing light in her eyes and that mouth of her that was capable of smiling without doing so.

Then he managed to react. He chortled. "Well, I hope, however, that your imitation, sweetheart, has been a deliberate exaggeration. I mean, I just hope that my influence over you is not such as to make you talk really like that."

"If I have to be sincere, my husband, you're rather… pervasive, actually."

"Ah. Well, if I too can be sincere, you're not outdone, wife."

"I hope that my pervasiveness towards you is just as useful to you as your own for me, husband."

"But for sure! Oh... ahem... Why? Was it helpful to you, T'Pol?"

T'Pol made an unequivocal gesture. She raised her eyes to heaven. Oh Holy Peace! How much patience was needed with her Adun!

"Trip, don't you remember that I said that your influence on me is sometimes quite useful? As in the case of the idea that came to my mind about my research?

"Oh yeah! Oh yeah." Trip cleared his throat again. "That _bizarre_ idea. Right. Well, actually, in addition to the way you've exposed it, it must be said that thinking of searching somewhere that is not Vulcan the possible evidences of something that Vulcans might have done in the past, is rather bizarre. "

"Indeed it is. But - I told myself - the history of Vulcan sinks far back in time as well as - and even more - all the part of the unwritten history that is cloaked in myth and legend. Traces of the Vulcans, in not few cases more than just traces, are present in many worlds. Why, therefore, to exclude a priori that it were possible to find elsewhere what I was looking for on Vulcan?"

"Well, actually, from this point of view... but, T'Pol, it would not have been enough a whole lifetime!"

"Exactly, Trip. And that's why I thought of a possible shortcut. "

"Shortcut?"

"Yes. And this shortcut... this yes, it was pretty bizarre."

Now Trip was really curious and also very impressed. What the hell had that sort of devil in a skirt that was his vulcan wife devised?

He folded his arms behind his back and raised his eyebrow, just like she would.

Well, about the fact that her influence, too, was rather pervasive towards him... impossible to have doubts.

"And this shortcut was?"

T'Pol did not answer.

With studied slowness she turned. She reached the couch. She turned with her back toward it. She sat down on it, making herself comfortable. She crossed her legs.

She looked at him quietly, frying him on hot coals.

Damn, undoubtedly his influence over her made itself be felt. However... guys!... her vulcan essence was damn present, but, and this was the trouble, if so it could be said, damnedly accentuated by that sort of human femininity that had settled inside her, sharpened by her being able to be femininely vulcan.

Easier having to deal with a dozen human females and a score of orion females rather than with a single vulcan female, femininely vulcan, who was also capable of being humanly feminine!

But she was his vulcan female!

And, with her, he had no weapons. Neither did he want to have.

He tried, however. Quite unconvinced.

He put his hands on his hips and looked at her with a certain air of impatience.

"So? This shortcut?"

And, at that point, T'Pol showed clearly that she was trying to appear at ease, but that, in fact, she wasn't, or, at least, not completely.

Trip by now knew her well.

He knew what it meant, that quick, repeated blink of eyelids on her part.

He came up to her and smiled warmly.

"So, wife?"

She looked up at him with uncertain eyes.

Then she decided.

"The library of the Bannerdas." **(**)**

It took a while before Trip could find again the ability to speak.

Well, decidedly, that evening, T'Pol was working hard, about such matter.

Finally, a choked voice earned its way out of his mouth.

"I... I do not know if _'bizarre'_ is a term that gives justice."

T'Pol jumped to her feet. She grabbed once again his hands.

"Ashayam, try to understand me, please. The... the Bannerdas exist no more, of course, but their immense library still exists." **(***)**

"Yes but..."

"In there, there is everything. Since and for times that go beyond the imagination, the Bannerdas have collected in it, following their own inclination, a colossal number of writings, essays, short stories, novels, poems, documents, fragments and a huge amount of other things from a huge amount of worlds."

"Yes but..."

"Why not thinking that in the midst of all that material there could also be what I was looking for?"

"Yes but..."

"Vulcan, like Earth... and Andoria... and Denobula... and a host of other worlds... are present in that incommensurably vast library. Why not thinking that something that on Vulcan was not or was no longer findable was instead findable in that library?"

"Yes but..."

"And the Bannerdas were methodical and meticulous, like... like Vulcans. Even more, I thought, considering... considering that, in a way, we Vulcans come indirectly from them. Even in the midst of all that mountain of stuff, I was sure I could have easily found my way, following the categorization method that for sure they had used."

"Yes but..."

"Oh I know, I know. You mean that that library is now under the jurisdiction of Starfleet, that isn't possible to have access to it. "

"Well... in fact."

T'Pol's look became... Was it embarrassment? And possibly with a hint of shame?

"But I'm T'Pol. I... I have a few rights on Starfleet. Like you, my Adun. Starfleet owes much to both of us."

Well, now it had become a habit. Trip found himself once again trying to close his mouth.

"Do you mean you've made weigh your privileged position? You?"

Yes. It was embarrassment. With a hint of shame.

"I… I did, Ashayam."

"Ooookay. Now I'm not sure."

"About what, T'hai'la?"

"That my influence over you, sweetheart, is definitely nefarious."

"Oh, but…"

"But definitely, useful, also, as you claim." A smile together sly and conspiratorial was painted on Trip's face. "You know, my love? There is a saying on Earth. The end justifies the means. Not that it is always valid, in fact seldom if ever. But... sometimes it is."

T'Pol's hands ran up the arms of Trip. They leaned on them as to get some support, but also with something flirtatious, a touch of coquetry, also evident in her gaze, which sent him over the moon.

"And... this is my case, Trip?"

"Well, honey, considering that you have not caused harm to anyone and in the light of the obtained results, I would say so, yes. Although... well, even though we do not know yet whether it is really true that no one will be damaged. I am talking about the two of us. "He beamed. "But that of going to end up constantly in trouble is in all likelihood our destiny. What can you do, my love? Fortunately we have the lifeline of our love."

T'Pol rested her head against his chest, sighing with contentment. "Yes, we've got it, Trip."

He held her like that for a while, revelling together with her in the warmth of their sentiment.

The soft movement of her lips caressed his skin. "But you, T'hai'la... you've never acted like me. How can you say that your influence is nefarious to me?"

It was a game, and Trip knew.

He smiled and kissed her hair.

"I'm not precisely a saint, sweetheart."

He detached her a little from him and, with two fingers, lifted her chin so she could look at him. And at his mischievous smile and enamoured.

"I am rather good at pretending, T'Pol."

"But not with me, do you, my Adun?"

Oh, what a delightful game!

His hand lovingly stroked her fluffy hair.

"No, with you no, my love."

And T'Pol leaned her head again on his chest, sighing with unconcealed pleasure.

It was easy, by staying so, in that way, to forget about the tale. Very easy. But the fable, with all its enigmas, existed.

And Trip, reluctantly, did remember about it.

"Hon..." Softly.

"Yes, Trip?" Languidly.

Damn! But how could one do?

Yet it was to do. That fable was important. It was...

Yes. There was nothing left to chance in the fable, possibly not even the way it had come into T'Pol's hands, in her bizarre idea to resort to the library of the Bannerdas.

The fable in itself was not a case.

T'Pol's phantasmagorical and yet logical conclusion about the... architects of the fable and of its arrival in their hands was an evident proof of that and if her conclusion was true... and - incredible, unheard of, surreal – but, even more than most likely, it was... well then just one could not afford the luxury of forgetting about that tale, coming from a reality that seemed to be beyond reality.

But that there was, existed, and wanted them to act.

He resorted to his usual light tone. It was his nature and in addition she liked it.

"Do you have just intention to leave me to brown slowly in all my curiosity, wifey?"

She lifted her head to look at him quizzically, all leaning on him and with the palms of her hands resting on the front of his shoulders.

He made a soft smile. "I mean, okay, given that the fable has come into your hands, it is clear that your idea was right, T'Pol. But would you please tell me a little more?"

T'Pol nodded, but no one could deny that she seemed to do it rather listlessly.

And in fact the sigh of disappointment with which she broke away from Trip was a clear confirmation that, at that time, the idea to give up her _comfortable_ position to resume her statement of the facts was not at all to her liking.

But so it had to be. Her Adun was right.

So she pulled away again from Trip, moved away a little, making a few steps back, and finally, with another small sigh, began to tell how things had gone.

"In fact I was right, Ashayam. The cataloguing methods of the Bannerdas were... are... really remarkable. It was not hard for me to get my bearings. Everything was catalogued by subject, author, origin, and so on and so forth. Obviously the language of cataloguing was that of the Bannerdas, but this is a language that we know, so there were no problems. I thought that the first thing to do it was to make a search by topic and so the key search that I used has been the term 'Elves'. I was not sure it was the right method, because, perhaps, in this way I would have limited the search field only to Earth, being the word 'Elves' typical of your world, T'hai'la. And here I had the first surprise."

Now Trip was really interested and curious. It was indeed intriguing to see how T'Pol had proceeded, using her usual methodicalness, her rigour, her rationality. To tell the truth, he was a little disappointed that she had not wanted to involve him in her quest. It would have been nice and stimulating doing it together. But he could understand her. She had let herself be engulfed into a difficult and challenging job but also, in some way, illogical. What was the point of doing all that? So, she had been afraid that, the moment he had realized how deep it was the effort she was lavishing in something that probably did not have too much sense, he could disapprove her. She, his T'Pol, abhorred being disapproved by him. Oh well, never mind. Whatever the case, it was fascinating realizing how she had proceeded. And he told her this plainly, with stated admiration.

"Fascinating, sweetheart, as you would say. I mean, the way you have proceeded. You are really admirable, nothing to say. And what was the surprise you're talking about, hon?"

"Thank you, T'hai'la." With sincere pleasure. No _my husband and lord_ this time. It was no more time for jokes, that one.

T'Pol gathered up a moment the ideas.

"The surprise, you say, Ashal-veh? That's what it was." She paused an instant. "When I inserted the term _'Elves'_ as a search key, I was directed to a very dense and extensive page, which described with a wealth of information who the Elves were and which basically explained that the Elves were mythical figures of Earth folklore and that similar figures weren't present in cultures of other worlds. The work began badly. Of Elves or characters like that there was no talk anywhere else that was not Earth and, therefore, not only on Vulcan, but also in any world where the Vulcans could have left traces."

"Oh T'Pol! What a disappointment you must have felt! "

"I would be tempted to say, Adun, that Vulcans do not feel disappointment, but ..."

"T'Pol! Come on!"

"... But I will not tell you, because in fact I was left very disappointed."

"Oh, honey!"

"But there was a note, in the text of the page, really intriguing, as you would say."

"And that is?"

"It said it was very interesting that the Elves of the human folklore had pointy ears. There was to wonder whether this physical connotation could have been purely random or attributable to an unconscious reminiscence, on the part of the Terrans, of the ancient aspect of the primordial Bannerdas or - please, pay attention, Trip - to a possible transposition in the myth, on the part of the Humans, of some population characterized by having pointy ears, and with which the Humans might have had some encounter. And it was said, in the note, that clearly such population should have been humanoid and should have had an appearance practically identical to that of the Humans, except for the ears. The note went on by saying that the population with the more suitable requirements, indeed virtually the only one, when the third hypothesis had been true, was that of the Vulcans."

"Wow, hon!"

"It was not all, Trip. In the note, erudite and detailed, there was a meticulous examination of the various pros and cons of the different hypotheses and, at the end of that discussion, it was concluded that the peculiarities of the ears of the Elves compared to those of Humans, left to assume that it was difficult to consider that as a fact of pure randomness, but, on the other hand it was equally difficult, though not impossible, that Humans had invented mythical figures reflecting the look that was once of the Bannerdas. Proceeding - so it was said verbatim, Trip - by logical exclusion, it was to be believed that the Elves of human folklore were, therefore, really the legendary trace of real people, equipped with those pointed ears, with whom Humans had had contact. To wit, definitely more than as a mere presumption, the Vulcans."

"Twice wow, hon! Practically a confirmation of your thesis! And coming from a truly reliable and knowledgeable source!"

"Exactly, Trip. But to me it was not enough. I wanted to lay my hands, as you would say, on something more. A document, a paper, an essay, a recording, a find... whatever it was of tangible, concrete corroboration to my thesis and the thesis of the scholar or scholars who had written that enlightening and… comforting page. I was well aware, Trip, that actually it was not exactly logical to insist. If something along the lines of what I was looking for there had really been, in this case, why shouldn't this something have been noticed by the one or those ones who had drafted that page? Substantiating in this way, well before me, the third option? Yet I wanted to insist. It was as if..." T'Pol's voice faltered. "... as if a will stronger than mine was pushing me not to give up. I told myself that it was not impossible that the drafting of that page could be previous to something that had been included in the library some time later that the page had been drawn up. And, on the other hand, it was well known that that extraordinaire library, a treasure of knowledge beyond imagination, had been rather neglected, if one may say so, by the Bannerdas in recent times. Which, for the Bannerdas, could mean for very, very long time. Longer that the duration time of many civilizations.

T'Pol lowered her head for a moment.

"Mine were rather forced arguments, not to say grounded on thin air, I know well, and... I knew even then. But I did not want to give up. Illogical, I know, but I did not want."

"Hum. Yeah. Illogical. Sure." Trip allowed himself a slight smile. "So much as to be logical."

T'Pol, obviously, did not lose the opportunity to raise her eyebrow.

"Oh... ahem... sorry, wifey. So what? Come on, continue."

T'Pol clenched a little her lips and knitted her brows.

She was putting order in her thoughts, was clearly looking for the best way to expose the rest of what she had yet to tell, because, even that was clear to Trip, now they were to the point. The highlight was going to come.

And he could not help but think that, with that expression painted on her face, she, if possible, was even more beautiful.

And finally she was ready.

A small sigh. Hands folded behind her back. Shoulders and bust well upright. Intent face and calm, deadpan enough, but not too much, just to the right point. Okay. Trip smiled to himself. _*Steady as she goes, hon.*_

"At that point, it occurred to me what you would define an inspiration, T'hai'la. An intuition. And - you must be very proud of you, Ashayam, of the influence you have over me - I decided to follow it. It was not at all logical to proceed so, especially considering in what the intuition consisted, but I did it. You made me realize that, not infrequently, intuitions can be expression of a covert and finer logic, which is played in the depths of our minds."

"Oh... thank you, hon! And... and... this intuition? "

"I decided to enter an additional search key. I entered... _The ears of the Elves_."

"Oh my God! And...?"

"And the second surprise came."

"That is to say? That is, T'Pol?"

"As expected, I was sent back to the same page where I had read the assumptions of the Bannerda supporting my thesis and, together, a quantity of other links appeared, with respective title, properties, location and so on. They were a number really great, Trip, huge, but my attention was drawn to a particular link. "

"What? What, T'Pol ? Come on. Don't make you be prayed!"

T'Pol could not help but smile to herself. What a wonderful perennial child was her Adun!

"The link stood out not only because it was on top of all the others. It was isolated, too, separated from the others. It was impossible not to notice it. And it had no indication about what it was, about what was referred, about where it were located the document or whatever it were what the link stood for."

"Damn, T'Pol! You could be prompted to say... you could be prompted to say that it had been put there, that way, on purpose, so that it could be noticed. And…" Trip snuffled forcibly. "And I don't struggle to believe... by you."

An obscure gleam of uneasiness crossed the eyes of T'Pol. "Yeah, Ashayam. And now... now we could even think that... someone wanted precisely it to be so."

Trip, nodded thoughtfully. "Yeah. Now we might think so, T'Pol. We might think that _that someone_ might just have done this to make sure that you, sweetheart, could notice it."

"But at that time I could not know any of this, Ashayam. All I could think was that it was an undoubtedly strange circumstance, perhaps even wanted, although I did not understand why, but, in any case, a circumstance to exploit, even... even in light of the words that made up the link. And even this was really strange, but I didn't pose to me questions that couldn't have answers at that time. It was... not logical."

A kind of suspicion - an intuition? - peeped out in Trip's mind.

"Hon, you wouldn't want to tell me that ... would you?"

"Yes, Trip" T'Pol perfectly understood that Trip had imagined what were the words making up the link. "The link, verbatim, was _The Ears of the Elves._ "

"Oh, damn!"

"Written in the language of the Bannerdas, but, of course, without the translation into this language of the word _Elves_ , which was taken without any alterations from the human standard language adopted by Starfleet, just as, on the other hand, in the first page I had found. But the link was exactly so. _The ears of the Elves._ "

"Hon, but ... but what have you thought, at that time? Haven't you... haven't you thought it was a bit too much what was happening to you?" And, at that point, Trip wasn't able to restrain himself. "Why... why did not you say anything to me?"

T'Pol looked down. Her Adun was right. Why had she said nothing to him? Because...

She raised her look. It was worried. And… contrite, too?

"Because I was too taken in what I had found, Ashayam. And…" A slow blink of the eyelids, which said a lot to Trip about her embarrassment. "…because I wanted to prove to you that I had all the reasons to devote myself to what I was looking for. You were so... so skeptical! Even intolerant, a little. I wanted... I wanted to make you pay your attitude!"

How many times that evening, Trip had found himself trying to close his mouth in front of the continuous source of wonders that was T'Pol? Many. And this was another time yet.

"Ho... ho..." _*And obey, my mouth!*_ "Honey! But... but... but..."

T'Pol dashed to him, hugged him tightly.

"Oh please, T'hai'la! Do not be mad at me! I... I do not know what came over me! The fact is... the fact is..."

"The fact is, my gorgeous vulcan doll, that a woman more woman than you, it is impossible that there may be! And I love you to death!"

T'Pol, even in her more than understandable embarrassment, looked at Trip from below with the most puzzled of glances.

But Trip's eyes gushed love as they watched her from above.

And that was more than enough for her.

It was all.

Smiling, Trip teased her. "C'mon, my nice dolly. Make me pay the way down. Go ahead."

A little uncertain, T'Pol nodded.

She untied the hug and walked away once again from Trip.

It was her who, this time, cleared her throat. "So ..."

Trip urged her with a beautiful smile, quiet and warm. "I listen to you, sweetheart."

T'Pol nodded again. "Okay, Trip." She regained her composure and resumed her detailed account with some confidence.

"Obviously, I took advantage of the link and on my terminal, connected remotely via the Starfleet control centre with the computer system of the library, I saw appear ..."

"What? What, T'Pol? The fable?"

"Yes, Trip. But I did not know it was a fable, when I saw it the first time. It appeared in the guise of a booklet, with, written on the cover, a title. That title, Trip. _The ears of the Elves._ Written in bannerda language except for the term Elves, even there in the Starfleet standard language. And under the title, another inscription, that I assumed it was the same title expressed in a language I did not know. I downloaded immediately the booklet in the memory of my computer, as... as afraid that something could happen that would prevent me from reading it. I interrupted the connection to the computer of the library and started to scroll the booklet from page to page. The subtended reading software was constructed so that it was to be read just like that, as a real book. It was bilingual. On the pages of the left, there was a text that I judged to be written in the same language of the title of the cover, the one expressed in unknown language. In the pages of the right, there was what I thought it was the translation, made in bannerda language and… and also - and on this I did not want to dwell! – in the Starfleet standard language. Unable to restrain myself, I began to read. And since then... "

T'Pol's eyes became severely troubled, as she looked at Trip. And even her body language denoted disquiet. It was obvious to him.

"Since then, Ashayam, I read and reread it dozens of times, because... because..."

"Why, T'Pol? What's in that fable? What have you found in it that has stumped you so much and that now ..." Trip made a pause full of meaning. "...and that now bewilders you even more? Now, after we've found out... what we've found out? After we've understood what we have understood? What..." His voice hardened. "...what do you think that we two must do? What is the message of the tale? What message ..." He took a step forward. He looked at her with stern eyes. He said it clearly. This time he said it clearly. Bluntly. Without mincing words. "...what message we two have left for us two?"

T'Pol reeled under the barrage of questions from Trip, under the powerful directness with which he posed them.

And she felt falter even more so because she... she thought she knew, now, what was the message.

She thought she knew, now, maybe, what the two of them were supposed to do, although she couldn't even imagine how and in what way and even when the two of them could have done what they were supposed to do. Although she would never have imagined that who should have done what had to be done, should have been the two of them. Although she would never have imagined that the impulse to them two to do what the two of them were supposed to do, would be conveyed by means of the fable by them two to themselves. Although she could not imagine why just in that way, by means of that fable, the message had been sent by the two of them to themselves.

And her heart trembled even more at the thought that if the two of them had not done what they should have done...

This, the consequences of this, would have been... would have been that she - _she T'Pol!_ \- could never have… existed! Trip, her Trip, her Adun, her K-diwa, her Ashayam, her Ashal-veh, could never have been her Trip, her Adun, her K-diwa, her Ashayam, her Ashal-veh. Their timeless love would have exhausted its time!

But... and if she was mistaken? If those sensations, those perceptions that she had had by reading the fable and that had now acquired such a strong consistency to push her to think all she thought... if those sensations and those perceptions were nothing but sensations and perceptions? Foolish and fallacious?

And yet... and yet...

Yet that phrase...

And her logical conclusion...

WHICH _WAS_ LOGICAL!

But then, if there was some logic in her conclusion... if she was not wrong... if what she had sensed and was forcefully trying to rationalize had some substance, some soundness… in this case the answers she thought she had found... weren't absolutely enough!

Other answers were needed. Answers about how, when, where, what the two of them should have done, could have been done… for real. Seriously. Actually. Effectively.

And many other answers. To many other questions.

It was necessary to review and retrace the whole tale to try to find those answers.

And this was something she could not - and did not want to! - do alone.

Oh, she could not. She could not just simply tell her Adun all was going through her brain, all her... her bizarre conclusions, all the content of the fable, and analyze that content and all her thoughts and all her conclusions together with him!

If before she, after her initial hesitation, wanted the two of them, together, to read the fable so as to go through it together and together rebuild in well-defined form the castle that had taken smoky shape in her mind, now it was even more necessary.

It was essential.

For her.

She needed the stormy quiet of his tumultuous brain.

Just like that.

No one who were not her could ever understand it, but it was so.

 _She needed the stormy quiet of his tumultuous brain._

To put order in her thoughts.

And in her heart.

Step by step with him.

Step by step

 _Page by page._

"Don't you answer me, T'Pol?"

His voice shook her. But that voice was not harsh, like just some moments ago. Oh Surak! No. It was not. It was the gentle and teasing voice she loved. And needed.

"Ashayam ..."

His smile warmed her heart, quieted her one more time. A bit.

"Come on, hon. Tell me something. I am convinced that you have something in your head." He winked at her with pleasantness. "You know, you don't hoodwink me any more." A mischievous chuckle. "Well, hardly ever, presently."

T'Pol took a step toward him.

"T'hai'la ..."

"T'Pol, wifey. Please. Tell me what you found in the fable. Tell me what you think. I'm sure that if we work together we can find in the fable all the pieces of the puzzle that we need and be capable of recomposing it in its entirety."

T'Pol practically snapped. With voice and body. "Exactly!"

Then, in front of his astonished look, she calmed down. A bit.

"Exactly, Ashayam. You are right about the fable. There, inside it, there is all we seek. _We_ , though, my Adun. **We.** You and me. Together. Also on this you're absolutely right."

Trip looked at her a little weirded out.

"What do you mean, T'Pol?"

T'Pol hurled herself onto him and once again she threw herself into his arms.

Once again she buried her face in his chest.

"Let's resume the reading, my T'hai'la. Together. As you wanted it to be. I will read and you will listen. And together - **together** \- we will find all the answers, will be able to recompose the puzzle."

She lifted her face to him. It almost seemed that her eyes were pleading. And, perhaps, they were.

"Together, my Ashal-veh."

Trip understood.

And how could he not understand?

How could he not understand - and fulfil - the needs of his T'Pol?

She had asked him to read together with her the fable, just as he himself had asked her to do at beginning and as, afterwards, she had told him she wanted to do.

But there was more behind her request.

Sure, she wanted the two of them to penetrate together the secrets of that damn story, secrets that, she probably already alone had begun to fathom, like, in hindsight, the logical conclusion she had reached made you understand. Behind that conclusion there were her previous readings of the tale.

The fact, however, was not this. The fact was that she needed him. One more time, in that evening. One more time, in order to handle the fable, to govern its content. And… yeah, sure… in order to handle - to govern - the _'something'_ which she had in her mind, which occupied it.

That _'together'_ meant ... _'I need you.'_

It was of no use for her to tell him, purely and simply, what she had found in the tale and analyze it, together, the two of them, in order to find the answers, to recompose the puzzle.

She needed now, more than ever, to share with him the fable, to untangle along with him its occult thread.

She… and practically she had said it to him… _She. Needed. Him_. Period.

And, obviously, he would have given her everything she needed.

 _His whole self._

Well, of course, in _every_ aspect of his self and, on the other hand, there was to believe he wasn't wrong at thinking that she would be not at all displeased that he were... him.

It was what she wanted and, come to think, she needed. Sure. Without forgetting that he too liked it a lot. He'd always enjoyed teasing her and joking with her, and now, then, that she had learned to give him back tit for tat... well, it was even better.

And it always worked to smooth situations and asperities.

And then there was, tonight, that great game - new and delightful - about their roles. She, the vulcan wife; humble, respectful and obedient; his property. And he, her Husband and her Lord. Her master. - Trip felt a great warmth inside. - _The master of the mistress of his heart._

Yes, a really nice game. A game to make the most of and through and through.

Therefore...

"Well, my exacting vulcan wife, why not?"

Two wonderful dark eyes rose up, a little suspicious, towards him.

"Why not, what?"

"That you resume reading the fable. To tell the truth, it is not all bad."

"It's not all bad?"

"No. Not at all. I find this tale quite gripping and - do we want to say it? - written not at all badly, too." He smiled roguishly. "One might think that it was me to write it."

T'Pol pulled away from Trip, with light heart again. There he was, her Trip, the Trip who knew how to soothe every trouble she could have.

She looked at him exactly as he expected her to do. With the eyebrow raised in the expression that meant _'what the hell are you blathering?_ '. And she also spoke just as he expected from her. With vulcan self-importance.

Without though forgetting her own role, of course, the role of docile, obedient, humble, respectful vulcan wife. Eh no. It was not something that could be forgotten. It was their new, wonderful game of love.

"My logical conclusion does not imply that you or I or both of us have been or will be the drafters of the tale and, indeed, I consider rather unlikely to be you the one who wrote it. With all due respect, my Husband and Lord, I have serious doubts that in the midst of all your... ahem ... undoubted qualities, there is also that of the _'good writing'_."

"Are you insinuating that I'm not able to write well, wife?"

"I'm not insinuating, my Lord"

"Ah. You're saying it clearly, huh?"

"How could your humble wife contradict what you say, my Husband and Lord? If you say it's so, it is so."

Trip laughed heartily. "Little to do, huh, with you, my humble wife? You've always the upper hand, with me."

"Forgive your ignorant wife, o my Husband and Lord, but I do not manage to understand the way you express yourself. Could you be a little clearer, if I may dare ask?"

'Mh, well, you know, one who writes bad can not be too much clear in speaking.'

"Your relieved wife is glad you agree with her."

"Hey! I did not say that! I said that ..."

"That the way you write can not fail to reflect the way you speak. Is your hopefully not absent-minded wife possibly in error in thinking that you said this, my Husband and Lord?"

"No! Viz yes! Viz no! Viz..."

Trip shrugged and, laughing, raised his hand to ruffle the hair of T'Pol. "Oh, never mind, o my anything but smart wife. I do not think I can outargue you. I've never succeeded, and probably never I will."

He winked at her. "Have I been able to express myself clearly enough in this respect, o my anything but shrewd wife?"

"Your contrite wife would never dare to put you in a quandary, my Husband and Lord."

Could there be a face more stolid than that of T'Pol? Luckily, for Trip, her laughing eyes spoke for her.

And while she stood there watching him with that stolid face, he decided it was time to really take control of the situation.

So, he snapped forward.

T'Pol was rapid, certainly. Her reflexes were quick, certainly.

But, first point, she did not expect his move, second, he wasn't then so bad, as regards physical prowess and speed.

And then there was a third point.

Why on earth should she have even the slightest idea to shirk what he was doing?

Why should she have even the slightest idea to escape those strong hands of him, that lifted her from under her armpits, that carried her aloft suddenly, that made her go down slowly towards him, that brought her face so close to his smiling piratical face and her mouth so close to his mouth?

His mouth.

His mouth which - while his hands were holding her raised from the ground, while her hands rested on his shoulders, while her blue-green eyes immersed themselves in his blue eyes - was speaking softly upon her mouth, with cheerful exuberance.

"One day or another I'll make you pay for your insolent conduct, my irreverent vulcan wife. If you don't change your attitude, I'll reduce you into many little small pieces by dint of voracious kisses."

And why on earth should she have even the slightest desire to hold back the words that bloomed on her mouth?

"I will try to change with all my strength, my Husband and Lord, but I'm really sorry to have to tell you that unfortunately I just do not think I'll be able to correct me. I'm afraid that, despite your benevolence, you will be inevitably forced to inflict on me this just punishment."

There was no response from Trip.

His mouth answered for him.

And the mouth of T'Pol replied to his mouth.

Then he slowly made her go down until her feet touched the ground again and they stood so to look at each other for a moment, facing each other, without speaking.

Trip then cleared his throat. "Ahem ... well ..."

Finally he blurted out with exuberance a little intentional.

"Enough. No more delay. We have a lot of work to do."

He smiled, naughty. "Mh, I seem to have already said something like that." He winked at her. "Am I mistaken, hon?"

She raised her eyebrow. "You are not, husband. And actually when you said this that other time, the two of us had to… really do a lot of work."

"Mh, true. Significantly different from the one we have to do now, though. Right, T'Pol?"

"Definitely, my husband."

"Mh, yeah yeah. And frankly I think that that other kind of work is not terminated, far from it. What do you think, wife?"

"I think that that other one, that in which we have strenuously committed ourselves after your solicitation, is a type of work that will never run out, husband."

"True, true. So let's get on with the kind of work ahead of us right now, so that, later on in the evening, we will have some time left over to take us a little forward even with that other work, okay T'Pol?"

An indubitable spark of cheerful mischief shone in the eyes of T'Pol. "As I have previously said, my Husband and Lord, your humble and obedient wife would never have the impudence to object to your will." Then the suggestion of a slight malicious smile made bend upward the corners of her mouth, emphasizing the malice that glowed in her gaze. "What you want, I want."

The same slyness showed itself in Trip's eyes. "Ah, very well. Your Husband and Lord is very pleased, my obedient vulcan wife. So, later on, we'll do... mh, this too does not sound new to me. If I don't deceive myself, it seems to me that you, my obsequious wife, have previously pointed out that, later precisely, we two would be engaged in a different activity."

"As always, and it could not be otherwise, you're right, my Lord. I've already said this, quite recently, and you've benignantly been in agreement with me."

"Hum, okay. And besides, I myself I have just said that for the moment the two of us have other work to do. But ..."

"But, my Lord?"

"Well, my... I do not know how much reliable... wife, I order you not to try, in this time that we'll use to do other things, to make me desist from inflicting on you your just punishment for your behaviour. You know, the little matter to reduce you into little small pieces with ..."

T'Pol's eyes widened with genuine horror. "Oh no, absolutely not, my Lord! I deserve this punishment and it is totally fair for me to be subjected by my Husband and Lord to my just chastisement!"

"Ah well, well. No problem, then. So then, since we have thoroughly scheduled our coming activities, including your retribution..." Trip's gaze eyed up all around. "Where the hell... ah, here it is."

He bent down and retrieved the PADD from the nook where it had ended up. He tucked it between T'Pol's hands with a triumphant expression on his face.

"Okay. Your current working tool is available again, sweetheart. You can resume ..." His eyes widened as if he'd been struck by a sudden thought and then they narrowed, almost with a frown, to emphasize his words. "Mh, however, if the two of us must go forward together ..."

He waved his index finger under the nose of T'Pol.

"Tell me, my little vulcan doll, the fable... even on your PADD can it be read in the form of book?"

Without understanding where her unpredictable Adun wanted to get at, T'Pol nodded, slightly uncertain.

"Of course, my Lord. I have extracted the translation in Starfleet Standard Language, making it a separate file. But it is always readable like a book, if you want to do it."

"Very good. I love old books." He grinned. "Who knows, maybe one of the fixations that the Captain has attached to me."

T'Pol could not help herself. "It would have been good that even some of your fixations had remained attached to the Captain, Trip."

"Ah, let's not to dig up things that it's good they are not dug up, T'Pol. Anyway, I'm really glad that the tale is readable on your PADD like a book."

Now T'Pol was genuinely curious. "Why, Trip?"

"Because in this way for me it will be a real pleasure to read it together with you." He winked. "If the two of us have to work together on the fable, it is necessary for us to read it together. Fine for me that the acting voice is yours, but now the conditions are different than before and I want my eyes and my mind to be able to follow step by step the tale as you're reading it. Indeed, to proceed to the best... "

Abruptly Trip stopped speaking and looked at T'Pol with an expression halfway between surprise and appreciation. "Hey, hon. Incidentally, do you know you're really good at expressing with the inflections and the tone of your voice the emotions conveyed in the fable? It would appear that you know what the emotions are. But it's clear that I'm misinterpreting things. You are a vulcan female, aren't you?"

There wasn't any raised eyebrow in response on the part of T'Pol. She answered by voice and in a voice extremely quiet and starkly flat and unemotional, in addition, as it befits the voice of a Vulcan.

"Actually, my Husband and Lord, it is as you say. As always you're right. If I may dare, though, I feel to say that in compensation there are other things that Vulcans know and consequently I too. For example ..." If possible her voice became even calmer, but, to tell the truth, a little less flat and unemotional. "...the Vulcan nerve pinch."

"Oh... oh... ah... sure, sure. Ahem, unpleasant, if you find yourself having to experience that treatment, eh, T'Pol?"

"It is designed to do no harm, but I can not exclude it can be really quite unpleasant, my Lord."

"Well then, better to try to avoid it."

"Once again you are right, my Husband and Lord."

At that point, Trip failed to avoid bursting out laughing. "I do not know if I shall succeed, my wife. I mean, I'm afraid that one day someone - who knows who, huh, T'Pol? - will be tempted to use that manoeuvre with me."

In turn, once again T'Pol didn't manage to avoid smiling tenuously. "I am convinced, my Lord, that this someone, if the _'someone'_ you have in mind is the _'someone'_ I have in mind you have in mind, for sure will prefer to use other methods in order to... how was that figure of speech?... in order to get to grips with you. "

"To get to grips with me, eh? Well, okay. Anyway, I feel relieved. A lot. And... what kind of methods, prithee?"

"Oh my Husband and Lord. Equally persuasive than the Vulcan nerve pinch, but definitely... more pleasurable."

"Mh. Like our upcoming working methods?"

"Sort of."

"Ah."

"Perhaps even more persuasive, my Husband and Lord. You know, the Vulcan nerve pinch is not a trivial matter. To compete with it one must work hard. And not a little. But that _'someone'_ , I think, would know how to overcome in persuasiveness this manoeuvre."

Trip smiled happily. "I have no doubts about it."

And T'Pol could not help but lower her head to hide the frank smile she wasn't able to repress but that didn't displease her at all. What was the logic to deny it? And, also, she didn't shoot back anymore. What was the logic to do it? The sweet, warm, gladness that reverberated in the Bond didn't require further words.

"Oh damn, T'Pol!"

T'Pol lifted abruptly her head and raised her eyebrow at Trip's sudden outburst.

"We are wasting time, sweetheart. So, let's see... what was I saying?... ah yes. Here it is. In order to best proceed with our common reading of the tale, regardless of whether the narrative voice shall continue to be yours, we must..."

And he said no more.

He was an action man.

He passed from words to deeds.

He grabbed T'Pol's hand and dragged her with him to sit on the couch, with all the PADD she was holding.

But not next to him.

On his legs.

Just like that.

On his lap.

With her... Trip grinned to himself... awfully nice bum on his thighs, Sideways and dangling legs. Her side and her shoulder propped against his chest. And with his arm that, well tight around her shoulders, held her firmly in that position.

"Ah excellent! This way is fine."

He twinkled at T'Pol who, without moving from that position and with the PADD in her free hand, had turned her head towards him and was watching him perplexed, with her eyebrow well raised. But also pretty amused. Trip could bet on that and... it happened to him to grin again within himself ... extremely unrealistic he wouldn't win the bet.

He smiled at her beatifically. "Well, sweetheart, we started with my head resting on your lap as on a pillow, and we end up with reversed roles, with you sitting on my lap and in the best position for our incipient work. See?" With a nod of his eyes he pointed to the PADD in T'Pol's hand. "In this position I can follow very well all that you are reading aloud. Perfect, isn't it?"

T'Pol nodded. "Ah, I got it." But her eyebrow made no move to get down. What changed was her expression. The perplexity disappeared. The amused air... was it perhaps a tad more pronounced? "It's for that, to ease our incipient common work, that you have positioned me in this way. Right, my husband?"

"But certainly, T'Pol! And why else otherwise?"

"Of course. Why else, otherwise?"

"Mh. Are you uncomfortable? Would you prefer a different position?"

T'Pol's expression changed again. The eyebrow went down and the amused air gave way to a perfect vulcan impassivity.

"I would like to take the liberty to remind you that, according to the law of Vulcan, I'm your wife, and that, therefore, I am your property, my Husband and Lord. It follows that you can position me in any position you prefer." A flash of mischief, very quick, into T'Pol's eyes. "Are there other and different positions besides this in which you would like to position me? It would be for me a source of great pride and contentment being able to satisfy my Husband and Lord in all positions in which he wants to position me."

In Trip's minds at least a dozen images suddenly started to overlap with each other, all relating to possible positions of T'Pol while... she was satisfying him.

And in the midst of this mental whirlwind of definitely vivid images, it was rather difficult for him to grasp immediately the meaning of what T'Pol was now saying to him, with her face very close to his neck, her mouth very close to his neck, with the arm not holding the PADD around his neck.

"I know from experience, my Husband and Lord, that you possess a fervid and extremely creative imagination."

Trip managed not to choke. By a hair, but he did make it.

"Cough ... cough ... I ... You ..."

Then he snapped.

"T'Pol! But haven't we said 'later on'?"

"Later on what, my Lord?" Could there be a more innocent expression than that of T'Pol?

"Later on our ... our ..."

"Our what, my Lord?"

"Oh stop! It does not matter! Forget it!"

Then, inevitably, he laughed. Damn of a vulcan female. Oh yeah, it was damn true. Much easier having to deal with a dozen human females and a score of orion females rather than with a single vulcan female, especially if the vulcan female in question was T'Pol!

But, guys, what a girl!

And she was _**his**_ girl!

"No way with you, eh sweetheart? The winner it's always you."

"My Lord?"

"But if you want us to go on with our more urgent work, you have to have a little compassion for your poor Husband and Lord."

"Compassion? I for you? But my Lord!"

"Rest assured that, later, I'll know how to prove to you how fervid and creative my imagination can be, fear not."

"Oh!"

"But now, let's get on with reading, T'Pol, and if this position is not your own terms ..."

This time the expression of T'Pol was not at all sought on purpose. It was blatantly contented and sincere. "It pleases me... completely, T'hai'la."

And equally contented it was the smile of Trip, possibly even more.

"Very well. So, come on, let's start."

"Immediately, Ashayam."

"However, T'Pol ... "

T'Pol looked at Trip quizzically. "Yes, T'hai'la?"

"Do not omit that sentence." He smirked a little tight-lipped. "The fateful expression, I mean."

"You want me to re-read that sentence, Trip?"

"Yup."

T'Pol could not resist. "But why?"

Trip replied with gravity, or rather began to respond. "Well, you know, honey ... " But he left the answer in mid air and T'Pol feared that the thought of what couldn't be properly defined as goodness of the saviour - namely, in practice and according to his high logic, of one who was something of what he had been, of one who was him himself - had painfully crept back in him.

Instinctively and on impulse, she gave him a quick soft kiss. "Ashayam, you do not ..."

But Trip did not give her time to finish what she wanted to say. Rubbing his thumb against his lips just as he had done that time, in the corridor, when he had cunningly led her to uncover herself finally and once and for all with that kiss en plein air, and with the same roguish expression printed on his face, he silenced her with a loud "Oh good!"

After that…

"You know, my caring wifey, it is a matter of drama intensity. That is the phrase with which the saviour introduces himself to the honour of the world. It can not be neglected, God forbid! The whole scene starting from it, the scene of the saviour, I assume, would suffer. And then…"

He smacked his lips. "Well, T'Pol, it's not a bad phrase, is it? You know, it is so expressive that it might be a sentence of mine. "He tapped his forehead with the palm of the hand." Ah, but what a kind of stupid! That _**is**_ a phrase of mine! That's why I like it so much that I want to hear it again! "

Trip then winked slyly at T'Pol. "T'Pol, you know what? That, after all, this damn saviour must not be so bad, if he speaks as I speak. Something of me, he must have! "

With the hand of the arm that held T'Pol tight to him, by encircling her shoulders, Trip squeezed gently T'Pol's shoulder, as he was addressing to her a look ostentatiously worried. "Unless I am to be totally thrown away!"

Trip's gaze became theatrically quizzical. "What do you say, wifey? Am I to be thrown away? Totally? Nothing good in me that even the saviour may have?"

T'Pol looked at him straight in the eye with a very serious expression. "If I may speak frankly, my Husband and Lord..."

"Granted, wife."

"Something good there's in you"

"Oh, thank goodness. As in the saviour? "

T'Pol sighed. She felt a clear mind and the heart quiet. "As in the saviour."

"Okay. Good to know. So then, go, wife. With that phrase... straddling two worlds."

T'Pol nodded. There were no more shadows. Her Ashayam had dispelled all of them. The enigma of the fable... the two of them would solve it together. Her logic would find all the answers, would be able to piece together the puzzle, just as he, her Adun, had asked her to do, acknowledging to her the ability to do so.

And when her heart had had to tremble again, he would be there, with her, to prevent it from doing it, to make it beat loud and safe.

She brought the PADD at reading height, making sure that he too could see clearly what was written on it, and switched the reading software to the book mode, as her Ashayam had said he liked.

She settled well comfortably on his lap, enjoying the firm and gentle grip of his arm around her shoulders.

And she read.

In a voice clear and firm.

And very careful to give strikes an appropriate tone.

' _Is that any way to treat an elven princess? Really impolite, if you allow me._ _'_

* * *

 _ **End of Chapter Ten**_

 _ **TBC**_

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

 _I remember perfectly, mu friends what I said to you in the footnotes of the previous chapter._

" _ **And now there are no more excuses, my friends.**_

 _ **It's time for the saviour to reveal himself fully.**_

 _ **For better or... for worse."**_

 _Well, I say it again now._

 _And, this time, there are really no more excuses._

 _Word of Asso._

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

 **(*)** _"The Hall of the Mountain King",_ _"The Hall of the Mountain King". Oh yeah._

 **(**)** _Still "In the Hall of the Mountain King", although in the chapters written so far there's no mention of this library. But it will be spoken of it. And it will be central in the whole story._

 **(***)** _And so I have revealed something that in the story (In the Hall of the Mountain King) there's not yet. Oh well, it matters little. I hope_


	11. The Ears of the Elves - Chapter Eleven

**The Ears of the Elves**

 **By Asso**

 **Chapter Eleven**

* * *

 _And here he is at last. The saviour._

 _But, my friends, a little at a time._

 _It is best to take him in small doses._

* * *

 **The Ears of the Elves**

 **Chapter Eleven**

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

The infamy ceased. The ignoble assault.

Everything ceased.

Screams, guffaws, sneers, clamours.

Everything.

There was silence.

And in the silence, every face turned around.

All. Even the faces of those who were perpetrating the infamy. The ignominious onslaught. The brutal; the vile, attack. The savage retaliation.

Even the face of the ravaged and undone damsel, kneeling watching in dumb horror the horror of the heinous and wild aggression.

Even her face turned around.

Only one face did not.

The face of the Princess.

She could not. Immobilized and mangled and terrorized, with the mind in turmoil, with the heart pounding, pinned to the ground under the bodies, feet, knees, hands of her winners, she could not.

But every other face turned around.

To search.

To see who had spoken.

Who had shouted those words.

The face of that resonant and mocking voice.

But there was none.

No one was on the battlements.

From there the voice had come.

But on the battlements there was none.

Only the bastions. Empty, tumbledown, dismal. Gray against the sky looming of the increasing darkness of the advancing night.

But then, after few moments, while a more and more strong disquiet snaked into the hearts; while the eyes peered and plumbed; while the ears perked up to catch whatsoever noise, whatsoever signal; while the hands raised the shields and the pikes and the swords; while the savage assailants were slowly getting up, leaving free their prey, their battered victim, before being able to carry out the ignoble revenge, the torture, the gang rape, the dismemberment of the body and the soul of the miserable Princess…

There, on the battlements, between the merlons…

Heads.

One. Two. Four. Eight. Ten. Twenty. Fifty.

A great deal of heads.

And, rapidly, after the heads, the shoulders. And then the busts.

Of men.

Many, many men.

Who were now standing on the battlements, on the stone walkway running behind the row of the merlons overlooking the courtyard; upright and motionless between this and the row of the outer merlons; sheltered behind the internal merlons, those facing the courtyard.

Silent and dark against the dusky sky where one could begin to glimpse the tremulous and tenuous light of the first stars.

Humans, they too.

But no helms on their heads. No hauberks around their chests.

No shields.

No crests.

No metallic greaves.

No iron footwear.

Leather jerkins and leather trousers, which had seen better days.

And threadbare leather boots.

And bows. Great. With nocked arrows, ready to be let fly.

Firmly held in their hands.

Aimed against the other Humans, those who were looking at them from below, in the bloodied courtyard.

In tense silence.

All.

The Humans in the courtyard. And the Humans on the battlements.

All of them silently staring at each other.

Until the silence was broken.

Abruptly.

By that voice.

The same of before.

Loud. Derisive.

And authoritarian.

Peremptory.

"Let's teach these bumpkins how to behave, my boys. And let's make so that they can remember good manners for a long time."

The voice stopped. A very short pause.

"Let's say... for eternity."

There has been no solution of continuity.

There has been no time to think, to understand, to realize.

Before, the dusky sky above the courtyard.

Then - suddenly; without warning - the sky black of burnished arrows. Obscured by them.

And then nothing else.

Death reigned supreme, lastly, in the courtyard.

Only two people still able to breathe.

The handmaiden. Naked, soiled, bruised, contused. On her knees. Petrified. The hands pressed convulsively against her mouth as if to hold back her mute scream.

And the Princess.

Mute, she too.

Now sitting, painfully and laboriously, tattered and bruised, her clothes in shreds, her body covered with blood and strewn with cuts and wounds, with her legs tucked under her, on the ground soaked in blood.

Of her aggressors.

Sprawled all around her.

They too mute.

In the plumbeous silence of death.

With difficulty, with pain, the Princess managed to put herself on her knees and to turn her head toward the bastions.

She hadn't been able to see the men who had showed themselves from the ramparts to bring death to her aggressors and their comrades.

But now she could see those men, those Humans. And she could see something that her handmaiden had not been able to see before, because it was not there before.

She could see the figure, which stood, tall and dark and on the sidelines, on the bastions, partially hidden by the merlons.

Her eyes clouded with tears of ache weren't capable of putting it clearly focused as well as her shaken mind could certainly not yet be able to fully realise what her eyes were seeing.

But they could see the figure. It wasn't possible not to see it.

It was big, very big, even at a distance. And was dark. Darker than the dark sky.

And, in the silence, broken only by the raucous breaths of her and of her handmaiden, the Princess's eyes saw the figure move.

They saw it pass between two crenellations.

Slowly.

And they saw it approach the wooden staircase that descended from the ramparts into the courtyard, and slowly and solemnly come down that ladder, and slowly and solemnly go towards her.

Proceeding with quiet gait on the bloody ground of the courtyard.

Among the bodies of her dead armigers and those of their dead assassins.

Slowly, the figure was walking over to her, rolling away with its foot, nonchalantly, any corps which hampered its path and revealing itself little by little to her eyes, which were regaining a clearer vision, as well as her tried mind.

It was really big, the figure. Looked huge. Wrapped in a black cloak. Blacker than night.

And the face...

No, the Princess could not see it. In the advancing darkness, the face was hidden in the shadows under the wide brim of a big black hat.

There, now the figure was just in front of her.

It had halted exactly in front of her.

It towered on her. Black and massive, gigantic; taller than the tallest of Elves.

And it was looking at her, yes, was watching her. The Princess could see that the face was turned downwards, towards her. But she could not equally see that face. Kneeling before the hulking figure in black; overhung by it; her beautiful visage - scratched and bruised and stained with blood hers and of her dead enemies - turned upwards to that other face, that of the enormous black shadow towering over her; her large eyes wide open… she could not.

The big lapel of the black cloak was raised and covered that unseen face, until just below the eyes, and only those ones the Princess could see under the large brim of the hat, well lowered down on the forehead.

Yes, only the eyes. Or rather, one only, because the left was covered by a black blindfold.

One only. The right eye.

Vividly blue.

* * *

"Blue, eh?"

T'Pol turned to face Trip. "Ashayam, when... when... I read the fable the first time, and also afterwards, I have not... I have not noticed this. I had not given it… due importance. You know, at that time..."

"At that time, that phrase... I hadn't yet said that phrase, huh, T'Pol?"

"N... no."

"Yeah. But now ..."

T'Pol leant strongly on Trip with her flank. Sitting as she was on his lap, she squashed herself against his chest. Literally.

"T'hai'la..."

Trip interrupted T'Pol and didn't look at her as he spoke.

"An entrance on stage a tad melodramatic, this, on the part of our cute saviour, is not it? I mean, wide-brimmed black hat, black cloak, hidden face ... Damn! Worthy of an apparition of ..." Trip's look alighted, dour, on T'Pol's face. "... the devil." He snorted. "The King could not have done better. And ..." A snort. Again. Heavy and harsh. "And me neither."

"Trip, Ashal-veh..."

"Go ahead, T'Pol, go on." He grinned through clenched teeth. "Who knows. I could always learn something from my illustrious predecessor."

T'Pol had not the heart to replicate.

She nodded and went on.

* * *

"But look if it is this the way to treat a Princess! And an elven Princess, on top of that!"

That voice.

The same voice as before, the one which had spoken before, which had made cease what... what Humans were doing to her.

Well, of course. And why would she have to be surprised? To whom else would ever that voice have belonged?

But now the Princess could hear well that voice. Now... now she was not in the vindictive hands of her assailants. Her mind was clearer now. If so one could really say.

And it was the tone. It was the tone of that voice as well as the voice in itself that struck her.

The Princess had never heard a voice like that.

It was the voice you could expect from a figure like that one, certainly. Deep and strong and rough.

And yet... and yet it was also sleek, someway.

But sardonic, too. So much sardonic as to sound ominous.

Menacing.

Subtly... bad.

* * *

"Bad, huh? Even the voice?"

"Oh, T'hai'la!"

"Oh, pay no attention to what I say, T'Pol. Forget it. Let's not stop."

"Al... alright, T'hai'la."

* * *

"Oh, but I am convinced that our friends have learned their lesson, my Princess. They will have all the time required in order to practise improving their manners." A sound, from the figure. Sort of a laugh, withheld and malignant. "An eternity of time." Once again the low sound, the sinister laugh. "Yes. I have good reasons to assert that never again their minds will be crossed by the idea to treat so badly an elven Princess."

The tall figure wrapped in black made a movement with the head, a sort of nod, which, someway, suggested the impression that the brain inside that head was thinking, as if struck by an idea.

The piercing blue eye came to rest on the face of the Princess. Between the brim of the hat and the lapel of the cloak, it seemed to shine intensely in the dim residue of the light of the evening, by now almost night.

* * *

"Even my blue eyes shine in the dark, honey?"

"Oh Trip!"

"Do they do, honey?"

"Oh yes, T'hai'la! And they are beautiful!"

"Thank you, T'Pol. And maybe they are also piercing."

"In... in fact..."

"Eh, blood will tell."

"Trip, Please!"

"Oh sorry, sweetheart. You are right. I risk being as sardonic as the saviour. And this is…"

Trip suddenly broke off. "Hey, you know really a lot of human ways of saying, eh wife?

"Do I have to remind you your bad influence on me, husband?"

Trip had to smile. Inevitably he had to smile. Well, this time the lesson of humour had been imparted to him. And from T'Pol. Rogue of an unmatchable vulcan female!

"Okay. Touché, my sweet wifey." He smiled again. "Let's see. Where were we? Oh yes."

Trip's finger pointed to a line on the PADD. "Here. C'mon. Let's go on."

He blinked, slyly. "Much as not exactly good this black saviour with blue eyes may be, the story gets definitely interesting." He winked at T'Pol. "And then, the blue eyes bode well."

T'Pol nodded with conviction and resumed her perusal, while, as the quick furtive happy glance she cast at him showed her, the… _blue eyes_ of her Trip were following carefully on the PADD, word for word, what she was reading loud.

* * *

The sardonic voice - rough and elegant at the same time - made itself heard again.

"Because I do not deceive myself, right, my lady? You are a Princess, among the people of the Elves, aren't you? Your mien, your clothing, your earrings, your, I would say more than evident, skill in combat... they are all clear evidence that you are an Elven Princess, I think. Am I wrong, my lady? Might it be ever possible you are not an Elven Princess? Even a Queen, I might think, if I were not privy that for sure there are no more Queens, among the Elves. Tell me, please, if I am mistaken, tell me if…"

Suddenly the fluent talk of that being in the shape of the shadow stopped. From under the cloak a hidden hand fidgeted.

"Oh, but what am I ever doing? I linger in useless and trivial matters that can safely wait, while you, my lady, stay there, in pain and frightened, kneeling in front of me. I am really unforgivable."

A huge hand, gloved in black, came out from under the cloak. It leaned down towards the Princess, inviting.

"Let me help you, my lady."

On instinct, without thinking, the Princess held out her hand towards the big hand that was offered to her.

Her small slender hand got lost in the hand that gently clenched hers, that kindly helped her to her feet.

"There, that's better, I think, is not it, my lady? Now, if you believe - but you can wait for my people to take care of you - you can answer me. Who are you, my lady? Are you the noble elven Princess you seem?

Something strange happened to the Princess upon hearing those words.

Something unexpected, in being treated so royally.

Inside her, pride flared up.

Oh it was stupid, yes, it was silly.

That shadow dressed of shadow, that man, because this he was, that Human... despite the undoubted elegance, despite the rough tone, certainly; sardonic, certainly; and yet very polished... and pleasant, of his voice... despite his apparent kindness... was not, could not be better than the other Humans.

His very appearance, perhaps even deliberately eerie; the unconcern full of derision with which he had ordered the death of Beings of his own race, without a second thought; the blatant indifference with which he had removed from his path the bodies that littered his steps...

And the perceivable, subtle malice of his voice, as much as it could ring polite and respectful...

What lay behind his question, so graciously formulated?

Behind his courteous acting?

Why he and his men had ended up there, in that moment, in such a timely and opportune way?

What did he want?

What, considering that he was a Human?

Or... or maybe not?

Maybe it was not a Human.

But no.

This could not be.

He was a Human, certainly. The men under his command were Humans and no one had ever heard about an Elf in command of Humans. And there couldn't be any alternative because only two sentient species existed. Elves and Humans.

Yes, no matter how huge he might appear, he could only be a Human and Humans never treated kindly the Elves without an ulterior motive.

If the Elves were now dispersed and reduced to being a shadow of what they had been, if the Age of the Elves, the glorious Age of the Elves, now was drawing to dusk, it was because of the Humans.

Her people, the great people of the Elves, had seen the birth of the Humans.

Her people had had care of them, had helped them.

But envy was born in the hearts of Humans.

And their young kingdoms had risen in arms against the Elves.

And the Humans had something that the Elves had not.

They had a weapon far more powerful than the weapons, than the strength of the Elves.

They had the weapon of deception.

Of craftiness, of wiliness.

Humans knew how deceive and lie, knew how to show themselves friends and be in reality foes.

And, although weaker than the Elves, though with a very shorter lifespan in comparison to that of the Elves, they were extraordinarily ingenious.

They possessed the genius of deceit.

* * *

T'Pol could not help but stop.

That passage, the one she was reading and that Trip was reading in his mind along with her...

Her eyes rested concerned on Trip's face.

"Trip ..."

But he did not seem worried or clouded over. Or, at least, did not show to be so.

He just nodded with a thoughtful look. "Do you see, darlin'? I was not wrong. The fable gives me reason. Humans can't be said exactly friends of the Elves. Maybe on occasion they are and maybe several of them have good feelings for the Elves. But, overall, there's bad blood between Humans and Elves."

Then, suddenly, Trip's face became somber. "And, on the other hand, what else can you expect from a breed in which flows the blood of the great deceiver?"

"Oh Trip, please ..."

Unexpectedly, Trip smiled. "But we've improved, I mean, we Humans."

Then, still smiling, he looked at T'Pol with a strange expression. "We have met who helped us to change."

His smile became extremely sweet. His fingers gently stroked T'Pol's cheek. "I have met who helped me to change, T'Pol, to become better. I have met you."

T'Pol placed the PADD on the couch and turned completely towards Trip, bringing her hand to his cheek and her face close to his, so much that their breaths mingled.

"Trip, Ashayam. It's me the one who takes refuge in you. You know it. I'd be lost without you."

"And would it not be the same for me, T'Pol? And not only because my love for you is so great?"

"What do you want..."

"What I want to say?" Trip's hand squeezed affectionately T'Pol's cheek. "Hon, think about what would happen of me, with the King, without you. **(*)** And before that, T'Pol, think about the dark desire for revenge against the Xindi that had taken possession of me, after the death of my sister. The dark side that was in me already at that time had shown itself. But you've saved me, T'Pol. You've given me back my joy in life and you've returned me to the light. With your love, my love. "

"Ashayam, I made you suffer!"

"For love, though, T'Pol. For love. For fear of being unable to love me in the way you, instead, know do."

T'Pol felt her heart swell. She felt something inside. As a strange urge to cry. Her Trip! Only he could make her cry of joy! "Trip ..."

"And, who knows, T'Pol... the King was the King. He was the devil. But, if Lil had not been torn away from him so brutally and suddenly... she... would she have been successful, even if in prey to his evil charm, in... in making of him something different? More... something better? And now there's this Princess. This Princess that's you, T'Pol. You made me realize that this black saviour with blue eyes will not be insensitive to her charm and she, of course, will fall prey to his, exactly as it happened to Lil with King. Exactly as... "Trip grinned slyly. "... exactly as you have fallen prey to my undoubted charm, my sweet wifey."

T'Pol lifted her eyebrow in an attempt to do 'THE' T'Pol, but her voice betrayed her. It emerged spontaneously from her mouth, sincere, without her being able to do anything about it. "I did, Trip."

Trip burst into a hearty laugh. "Ah ah, viva sincerity, hon! Do you see, sweetheart? My charm is irresistible and, let's face it, without time. Anyway, joking aside, there has always been a T'Pol in the destiny of every Trip and if the T'Pol of the King did not have time to save him from himself, you've had time to do it with me. And... I am not mistaken, eh, T'Pol?... the T'Pol who throbs within this elven Princess… she will succeed in making it, with her own Trip. Right, sweetie?"

T'Pol sighed happily. How he deserved to be loved by her, her Ashayam! "Yes. She will succeed, Trip."

Trip laughed softly. "Well. I knew I could count on her."

Then his expression changed. He grew thoughtful. "It will... it will be hard for her, eh, T'Pol?"

T'Pol tilted her head so as to feel well the pressure of his hand on her cheek. Inadvertently she closed her eyes for a brief moment. "Yes, Trip. It will be very hard for her."

Trip nodded. "The ugliest pages are to come yet, aren't they, T'Pol?"

"They… are, Trip."

Trip pursed his lips. "This tale speaks of very ancient times, times when maybe the imprint of the King over me, I mean over the saviour, was felt a heap. Probably more than now."

T'Pol replied in a sigh. "Put it this way."

Trip nodded again and sighed. "Bad person, huh, this saviour? The worst part of me. And, beyond that, now you know. I mean you know that what this saviour does is a bit ... a bit as if it were me to do it."

He smiled sadly. "We went well above and beyond the fact, that you feared, that I could have felt heartsick, sore and angry knowing that, to behave let's say... badly, were a Human, thus renewing the grief for the awareness of the roots of us Humans."

He addressed to T'Pol a rueful grin. "It will be hard for you to re-read the next few pages, perhaps harder than it may be for me to read them for the first time."

"Oh Trip!"

Trip hugged strongly T'Pol. He whispered in her ear. "But there is the Princess, T'Pol." He gently kissed her ear. "There's you."

T'Pol clung to him.

"The saviour found his saviour, huh, T'Pol?"

T'Pol has not even been able to respond. All she has been capable of doing was to huddle even more to Trip.

He held her like that for a while then gently parted her from him. "Come on, T'Pol. We must continue. And we can not leave anything out. When you've read the fable, you did not know what the two of us now know, whatever the number of times you've done it. It is not impossible that you've missed something, maybe even important."

T'Pol nodded. She picked up the PADD and settled down again for the joint reading.

She felt Trip's hand squeeze delicately her shoulder by way of encouragement.

And, a moment before she would begin to read again, she heard his refreshing laugh, his silly yet delicious quip, blatantly said on purpose, to tone down the tension of the waiting for what they would read that the saviour would do.

"Come on, Princess! Hang in there! It will be tough, but you will make it. My likeable predecessor will not win the day with you. And you will save him. I have confidence in you."

His arm clutched strongly her shoulders

"And then you cannot fail. Remember that you are T'Pol! "

T'Pol could not avoid it. She heard her own voice resound with great pride as she restarted to read.

* * *

And force, united with deceit, had led Humans to be the new Lords of what had once been the Enchanted Kingdom of the Elves.

On the great continent, in the end, they were left, the Humans, to dominate, although in war against each other.

The Era of the Elves was ending.

But it was not over yet.

The glory of the Elves had not yet waned.

And of that glory the Princess was the depositary.

And, in some obscure way, that big and black being, that faceless Human, had managed to awaken in her the pride for what she was.

An elven princess?

She was not only an elven Princess!

She was **THE** elven Princess!

She was the Princess of the people of the Elves.

The last heir of the glorious supreme power of the people of the Elves.

She was...

"I am Alel."

The blue eye seemed to sparkle.

The deep voice spoke. Neither sardonic, nor polite. Only amazed.

"You are Alel?"

The Princess nodded proudly.

"The Princess Alel?"

Again the Princess nodded. With even more pride.

"The daughter of Arnon and Dalel?"

One only word, from the Princess. "Yes."

"The last great sovereigns of the entire people of the Elves?"

Again. "Yes."

"You are the Princess Alel, the heir of the supreme power over the whole people of the Elves?"

The Princess, as far as tall as all the Elves, was small facing the huge figure in black.

And her clothes were in tatters.

Her slender and well done body showed off itself, bruised and wounded, from the countless gashes of her scanty dress

Yet she appeared almost as tall as the figure standing before her and as if covered with pure splendour, as she straightened up, with proudness, in responding.

"I am."

* * *

 _ **End of Chapter Eleven**_

 _ **TBC**_

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

 _I have kept my word, my friends._

 _Finally the s_ _avio_ _u_ _r has shown himself._

 _Well, however..._

 _It may also be true that he's Trip, in some way, but you can not really say that he is lovable exactly as our engineer. What do you think?_

 _Well. Let's hope for the best._

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

 **(*)** _Something that you do not know yet, my friends. "In the Hall of the Mountain King" has not yet arrived at this point._

 _But it will arrive there._


	12. The Ears of the Elves - Chapter Twelve

**The Ears of the Elves**

 **By Asso**

 **Chapter Twelve**

* * *

 _A small interlude, my friends._

 _Before the saviour shows himself up entirely._

 _Ah, I apologize._

 _One should always remember that behind this story there is one other story: "In the Hall of the Mountain King."_

* * *

 **The Ears of the Elves**

 **Chapter Twelve**

 **OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO**

"Oh no no no no! One must never let himself be dragged along by pride! Never, never, never!"

"Trip?"

"But T'Pol, my joy, does it seem intelligent? This hollow-gourd-Princess has revealed to her self-styled saviour her ultrahigh lineage! This way! Without thinking twice! But do you realize? Possible that the fact that in her there is some dose of you does not teach her anything? "

"Oh… ahem… thanks, but..."

"Oh I know, I know. I have to stop behaving like a child and this is a fable. But it's a fable damnedly true, T'Pol! These things have happened! Maybe not just this way, but they happened! And to this silly princess it's taken less that a second to say to this saviour, who is human, and therefore not exactly a friend; who can not have ended up there by chance, as she, _she herself_ , has thought, and consequently driven evidently by some underlying aim; who is not exactly the spitting image of goodness, even with all his damned savoir-faire, that she… she is… oh good God! In an amen, in the twinkling of an eye, she has told him not only that she is really a Princess of the Elves, but even that she is the Elven Princess to whom all the people of the Elves must bow down!"

"It... it is true, but..."

"Basically she has said to this miscreated saviour _Allow me, much esteemed saviour, this is my head. Oh sorry, you're lacking the noose for clenching my neck! No worries. Here it is._ "

"You... you're right, T'hai'la, but this saviour is... is pretty skilful with words and ways, he is good at this, and then the Princess is scared, shocked even, and ..."

"He is good at this?! Many thanks to you too on my part, my dearest wife! This is a compliment to me, considering that I am him. But also the devil, you know, is pretty good with words and ways and the saviour got the devil in him! Matter of... of lineage, also in his case, just as for me. I know well. And I know equally well what the devil is capable of doing when he's inside you!"

"Trip! Please!"

"I know from direct experience the damned tricks, the... the devilments, the devil is able to do. I've performed lot of them in person!"

" **Trip!** That's enough!"

Trip fell suddenly silent.

A little shameful, he tried to hold up the blazing gaze with which T'Pol was staring at him.

Damn! Sometimes it occurred to him to think that it would be better she would behave with him with the same cold composure with which she treated all others. No one else except him could realize how violent T'Pol's emotions could be. And that was good. But it was not so good when these emotions were a fit of rage on her part towards him.

And, furthermore, at all justified.

Like now.

Ears down, in that case! Absolutely!

Like now.

"T'... T'Pol... dar... darling..."

Good grief! He hated it when he found himself stammering like that! And with her, in addition! Like a schoolboy. Like a... a... oh damn! Like a child caught out!

He did not know what to say, as she continued to watch him with eyes that didn't give the slightest sign to become less fiery and the fact that she was curled up on his lap was not of any use to mitigate the situation.

And now? Who knows with what words she would assail him!

There! Here the words!

"This is the last time I say it, my dear Husband and Lord. After that, if you do not stop, I will find myself forced to check on you, to my great regret, if indeed the vulcan Nerve Pinch is painless."

Eh no! This not! Okay feeling ashamed of being nabbed like a child, but being **_treated_** like a child, this not!

"Hey! Do not exaggerate! I can also be a little boyish in the way I do, but after all I am an adult, to all effects, as you, my dear vulcan 'de facto' wife, know perfectly! I am not a child that you can threaten to chastisement, nor even less a puppet that you can manhandle at your leisure! I am your..."

"My loved, beloved, adored Husband and Lord. That's what you're. Do you want to understand it, or not?"

Trip stood with his mouth vainly open to say the words that he would have never said and with his eyes wide open to watch into T'Pol's eyes, which, without notice, unexpectedly and all at once, had become so sweet that they could melt the heart... the heart of the devil!

And T'Pol gave him no breath, she hammered him. Ruthlessly. And with an infinite tenderness. She closed his still open mouth with hers, stopped any word that could have even the slightest intention of getting out of it by means of her own words, whispered on his lips.

"My T'hai'la, my Ashayam, my Ashal-veh, my K'diwa, my Adun. That's what you're. Do you want to understand it, or not?

T'Pol's lips rubbed themselves gently against the lips of Trip.

"Noodler, stubborn blockhead of a beloved Husband and Lord, do you want to understand it, or not? Do you want to understand once and for all that you are this and nothing but this? Namely my beloved Husband and Lord?"

It was a murmur, a sigh, a breath, a frisson, warm of pure love.

"Do you want to understand once and for all, my beloved Husband and Lord, that the devil has nothing to do with you? That nothing diabolical exists in you? That you've not been, are not and will never be the King - the devil - but exclusively my cherished Adun?"

And then…

Trip, even in the nearly total stoppage of his neural connections at that moment, was nevertheless able to hear well that sound, that music, that celestial chant.

Silvery and bewitching.

Something that might have seemed, that _was_ , a soft laugh, replete with echoes of enchantment.

Which toyed slight on his lips.

A melodious, crystalline, velvety, soft laugh that had the spell of the voice of T'Pol.

The tuneful voice of T'Pol.

Which was laughing. Wholeheartedly. As with him and only with him, she had done other times. But in such a merry way as she had never done.

The harmonious voice of T'Pol.

Which now was speaking. Playfully. As with him and only with him, she had done other times. But in such a jocular way as she had never done.

"No, I'm wrong. Something diabolical exists in you, my Adun. Your diabolical skill as an engineer."

And again. That sound. Gorgeous. Heavenly. That sweet soft laugh that joked, cheerful, on his lips.

With the incantation of the voice of T'Pol.

"No. I'm wrong again, my Adun."

Gently, T'Pol parted her lips from his and lifted her head a little in order to well watch him as she spoke.

And her eyes were bright and mirthful.

"Something else diabolical exists in you, my Adun, something more, much more, diabolical."

T'Pol's lips rested a very slight kiss on the lips of Trip, before opening up for talking again.

"Fiendishly diabolical is the way you, after having the head, and the heart, of this wretched vulcan female, raised in the most strict logic, manage to make it that she can be happy to allow her neck, and her heart, to be tight each day more in the grip of the noose of her... " - And T'Pol said it. She said it. She uttered that magic word. Fervently. As she had never done before. - "... of her _love_ for you."

The wonderful silvery sweet merry soft laugh let itself be heard again for an instant.

"Our Elven Princess is less than a poor twopenny amateur in comparison to your masochistic vulcan 'de facto' wife, my Husband and Lord."

After a few moments - or after an hour? Or after a day? Or after centuries? Who knows? - the cogwheels of Trip's brain managed to revolve again, at least the little it was to him enough to stammer something.

"I ... I ..."

But more, he wasn't able to do, because...

Because…

Yes. It was so. It was a blatant, cheeky, beaming smile the one that lit up T'Pol's face. The more beautiful and radiant of those that he, and he alone, had had the privilege to see.

"Yes, my Husband and Lord?"

It took the effort of a Titan to make sure that he could answer, lost as he was in the bewitching enchantment of that smile.

"I... I... I would love to know…"

But maybe he was wrong. Maybe it was not true. Perhaps T'Pol was not smiling, or at least not so, not in that wonderful, showy, brazen, way.

"What, my Husband and Lord?"

No. There was no doubt. That of T'Pol was a sweet, broad, radiant smile.

"I would love to… I would love to know what... what happens now, between... between..."

"Between the Princess and her saviour?"

It was! It was! Yes! The perfect white crown of her delicious small teeth showed off itself completely, in the most wide and most effulgent of smiles.

"Y... yes."

"So, do we want to continue to read, my Husband and Lord?"

Trip coughed. He tried to strike an attitude. But the persistent smile T'Pol darkened all his faculties.

He had never seen anything more beautiful!

And he could not resist.

"Yes. But, please, T'Pol... "

"My Lord?"

"From time to time, if you can, smile again at me like that!"

T'Pol's eyebrow rose, stern, and stern her face showed itself, of a sudden.

"My Lord, you know well that it is unseemly for Vulcans to smile."

But her eyes kept on smiling, even more than how her mouth had done until an instant before.

She bowed her head graciously and without raising it, she made be heard her voice, soft and low.

"But it would be even more regrettable for a vulcan wife to refuse to fulfil the wishes of her Husband and Lord."

And, having said this, she lifted her head and smiled again at Trip, with a tenuous, soft, sweet smile, so gentle and tender that no one would ever have been able to describe it.

And with that faint smile still arcanely lingering on her lips, she returned to read.

Trip's eyes weren't able to focus immediately on the PADD.

They were too intent on savouring the wonder that was bestowed upon him alone.

The marvellous smile of his T'Pol.

* * *

 _ **End of Chapter Twelve**_

 _ **TBC**_

 **OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO**

 _Did you catch your breath, my friends? Yes?_

 _Very well, because in the next chapter we shall become better acquainted with the saviour._

 _And I do not know how long yet T'Pol's smile will be able to persist on her lips._


	13. The Ears of the Elves - Chapter Thirteen

**The Ears of the Elves**

 **By Asso**

 **Chapter Thirteen**

* * *

 _The Saviour begins to reveal himself._

 _Or, rather, not to reveal himself._

 _And, by reading, my friends, you will understand the obscure words of your devoted servant Asso._

* * *

 **The Ears of the Elves**

 **Chapter Thirteen**

 **OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO**

The Princess's proud claim rang loud and clear in the dead courtyard.

And silence greeted her statement.

No echo to her resonant voice. No reply or reaction.

The big, dark figure cloaked in black in front of her stood silent and motionless.

Even his blue eye under the dark brim of the hat, in that visage without a face, was completely still. Merely, it was fixed, impassive, on the slender figure, on the beautiful, strained visage of the Princess, who, motionless she too, stared in turn at that unsettling eye, that, unblinking and unfathomable, was watching her.

Indeed, was _scrutinizing_ her.

Intently.

And under the piercing gaze of that eye, deadpan yet so vivid, the Princess felt waver.

Pride. Fierceness.

Gorgeous words.

 _Dangerous_ words.

Words that can lead you to do - to say - things that maybe it is better not to do nor to say.

Like revealing who, _what_ , you are.

Exactly as the Princess had done.

And now, that blue eye was studying her. Without batting an eyelid. Indecipherable.

The Princess felt – the Princess knew - that that eye was weighing up her. And was pondering.

She felt - she knew - that the mind behind that eye was deciding what to do of her.

Attentively. Very attentively.

Because now that mind knew who she was.

And it was cold, that eye.

 _And eyes are the mirror of the mind._

Cold.

Cold the eye.

And cold the mind concealed behind that eye.

As cold as the cold of the advancing night.

Suddenly the Princess felt all that cold. Her poor body, sore and battered, exposed to the biting air through the rips of her already scanty warrior clothing, shuddered. Perceptibly.

But was it merely for the cold air, even if quickly it was getting more and more stinging in the darkness getting thicker minute after minute?

Cold.

And darkness.

Now the courtyard was immersed in shadow.

The sky still reverberated of the last effulgences of the twilight, but it was getting deep blue and the stars shone now visible in its vast hollow.

And against that wonderful and quiet dark blue the black shade of the faceless Human stood out huge.

Looming.

And menacing.

And the Princess's heart shuddered, like and even more than her severely tried body.

But she did not want to give in to that trembling, neither of the body nor of the heart.

She did not want to!

The pride had betrayed her. But she would not betray her pride!

Her just, her _legitimate_ pride!

She raised her chin. Defiantly. Unmoving, in the impending dark. And enchantingly beautiful. Half-naked, in the little that was left of her tattered garments, but magnificently dressed in her proudness, the proudness she was entitled to have.

Her fierce… _her desperate_ … proudness.

And finally she broke the silence. To proudly – _Proudly!_ _ **Proudly!**_ \- dispel any possible doubt!

If she had to fall into the abyss, she would throw herself into it with her own hands, with fierceness and pride. The fierceness and the pride of whom, _of what,_ she was.

In a firm voice and sure she spoke.

"I claim."

She made a brief pause. She wanted very strongly her words to be able to resonate mighty and to remain as carved in marble.

"I am Alel. I am the last Princess of the breed of the Elves. I am the only real Princess of the Elves. I am the one destined to sit on the supreme throne of elven people."

Then she fell silent, erect and proud, careless of the increasingly pungent air and of the increasingly looming dark that enveloped, both, her slim figure, and careless, too, of the aura of threatening puissance emanating from the huge shadow cloaked in black erect across from her; with her gaze, straight and fierce, planted on that face that didn't want to show itself.

And, at that point, she had an answer, finally.

She heard that voice again, the voice of the man without a face, and one more time in that tone, that deep and rough tone, also capable however of sounding courtly. But also manifestly mocking.

"This is really a great honour, my Lady, a honour that I would never have believed that I might have the honour to have."

Something, a kind of a low grim sneer, rolled down from the black-dressed shadow.

"Actually, neither this nor other honours. There's no kind of honour for people like me."

And this time there was nothing sneering in that voice, but, rather, a not held back wrath. A bitter wrath. A wrath oozing something... a feeling, an impression, a sentiment... which sounded as being ruefulness.

And the vivid blue of that eye seemed to die down, to become darker than the deep blue of the sky.

And under the gloomy blue glow of that eye - empty, mirthless, gelid of an all-consuming repressed wrath - the Princess shuddered again. And much more than before.

And she wasn't able to hide it.

And here, suddenly, the black figure became alive.

Swiftly, without warning, without the Princess being even able to realize it, the black cloak flapped like the wide wing of an enormous bat and went to alight on her exposed and defenceless body.

It wrapped it.

It protected it.

And then the voice. Again. Harsh, rough. And again perceptibly jeering. "Never be that the cold may make suffer Her Highness the Princess Alel."

The low laugh made itself heard again. "Neither the cold nor anything else as well as any living being."

The laugh again, almost a sort of subtle sneer. "Nothing and no one shall make suffer the Princess Alel."

And again the laugh was heard and it resounded ominous, someway, as well as the words that followed it, the same words said before by the Princess, in truth, but echoing reconditely eerie on the hidden mouth of that hidden face.

"The last Princess of the breed of the Elves. The only real Princess of the Elves. The one destined to sit on the supreme throne of elven people."

The Princess enveloped herself in the mantle, without even thinking about what she was doing; merely and inevitably glad to be able to have a little protection. Inevitably relieved. Inevitably grateful.

And tremendously uncertain, tremendously doubtful.

Disoriented.

Incapable of understanding who she had standing before her, what sort of Being she was facing.

A friend.

A… saviour.

Or an enemy. More fearsome than the enemies made by him slaughtered without the slightest hesitation.

An enemy that hid his true intentions behind his seductive words, behind his knightly and courtly gestures, as well as his face into the black shadow of the increasing darkness and of his big hat.

She tried to see the face of the man upright in front of her, to read something in it, now that the high lapel of the mantle no longer covered it, but it was dark, now, and the wide brim of the large hat continued to hide the black shadow's face, whose traits appeared indistinct and where only the blue eye, the one not hidden behind the black blindfold that now looked as a pit of shadow into the shadow of the visage, could be clearly seen, hard and frosty.

And nevertheless, despite the chill that shone through that eye, the mantle of that man in form of shade was now on her shoulders, around her body. Was sheltering her.

And he had saved her.

He had saved her life. And… not only the life.

Perhaps… perhaps, after all, she did not have to be afraid, did not have to nourish dread. Perhaps… it wasn't an untrustworthy foe, that gigantic human shadow.

Who talked that way.

Who _acted_ that way.

And so, the Princess dared.

"Who are you, my Lord? To whom do I owe my life and honour?"

"Lord?"

One more time the low laugh hovered in the cold and dark air. And was a bitter laugh. And contemptuous. Sinister, indeed.

"I am not a Lord!"

The tone was vehement. The Princess stepped back, unconsciously, under the violence that animated the voice.

"I am..."

And the voice stopped. And, somehow, to the Princess it seemed to have sensed for the first time something uncertain, in that voice. Some sort of troubled hesitation.

Then it, the voice, resumed.

Again rough and yet courteous. Again firm. Again sure. And again perceivably sarcastic.

"I'm a coarse, unforgivable scoundrel, a lout, inexcusable even more than I've regrettably been capable of being earlier. I really fear that, as a result of my behaviour, Your Grace can have every reason to deem that your noble people may be totally correct in thinking that we Humans are not exactly the quintessence of courtesy and civility."

So it was true. She wasn't mistaken. It was a Human, the one who stood in front of her. Large and big, well over the largest and biggest of all Humans she had ever seen, more than any Elf. But he was a Human. By his own admission.

The Princess, though, had neither way nor time to absorb the impact of that revelation, which gave concrete substance to her suspicions and, even more, to her anxieties and her fears. The sardonic voice of that huge Human took up completely her attention again.

"Before, I indulge in futile pleasantries, while you, my august princess, are staying there, on your knees and aching. And it takes me a while before deciding to help you to put you back standing. Then I start to discuss with you about who you are, while you're shivering with cold. And it takes me a while before deciding to cover you to shield you from the pungent air. Then I let myself be carried by you into matters concerning my identity, issues more than legitimate, on your part, my Lady, but certainly not of such an importance that they can not wait."

The invisible face budged under the big black hat, the head covered with it swung, as in obvious disapproval.

"Bad, bad. A really inexcusable conduct on my part, Your Grace."

A mocking twinkle shone in the blue eye.

"You need care and refreshment, Princess. The rest can wait. We'll have all the time we wish, to talk about me."

The derisive glitter in the eye seemed to become more intense.

"We will have all the time needed for this as well as for any other thing."

And the eye shone - really and intensely. And bleak. - in the dark.

And it did not please the Princess, that dusky glow, not to mention the emphasis laid on that _'as well as for any other thing'_.

Yet the man, the Human, was – appeared - kind. Definitely.

Was he... was he also sincere?

The Princess was increasingly uncertain, increasingly disoriented.

Who was this man, who behaved so differently from any other Human with whom she had ever had to do? That man, that Human, who seemed to gush courtesy and respect and care for her from all his pores and who with the most total aloofness had made be massacred by his men people of his own race? Who, so blatantly, had shown the most total unconcern for the corps of the men he had made be killed? How could she trust the words of a man, a Human, when she knew that Humans were treacherous and traitorous?

But, on the other hand, what need could ever this Human have to treat her so graciously? She was in his hands, this was clear, was obvious. So, what need was there for him to appear so courteous and considerate towards her?

Could it be that he were really sincere?

Could it be that he considered the Humans, his brothers of race, as enemies more enemy than the Elves and that his heart didn't host the dull resentment against the Elves which animated the other Humans?

That bitterness... that anger... in his voice, when he had said that there couldn't be any kind of honour for people like him...

What ever meant this?

And what ever meant the evident sarcasm, shown off, flaunted, constantly present in his voice and in his words?

That rough and courteous voice. And subtly threatening.

Impalpably able to strike fear.

Because that voice _was_ threatening and frightening. Despite all the courtesy the man spoke with, his voice was threatening and frightening.

Or, perhaps, was it possible that she perceived his voice so because for her, inevitably, Humans, all Humans, were threatening and frightening?

But Humans _were_ threatening.

They _were_ frightening.

Humans were treacherous.

Humans were... bad.

But could it be that that Human was different? Regardless and in spite of his disquieting way of talking?

Or was such behaviour from him nothing more than a way, all his own, subtle, perverse, to have fun at her expense, flattering her, making flash before her eyes and her tried mind, her tired spirit, the hope of a relief that would never come? A salvation that would not have been anything but martyrdom?

Was this the subtle, scary threat she sensed in his voice?

But... and if it were not so?

If that man had been really the considerate and chivalrous gentleman that he wanted to appear, even in his disturbing behaviour?

How could she trust?

Who was he?

She knew she had no choice, knew she was in his hands.

But were those hands the hands of an enemy worse than any enemy she could ever meet or were the hands of the most unlikely of friends?

Who was that man?

WHO WAS?

She... she had to know.

And, more than ever uncertain and doubtful, for nothing sure if she were doing the right thing, if she were not forcing the good fortune, nevertheless the Princess found herself asking again.

"My Lord, grant me to insist. Who are you? To whom does the Princess Alel owe her life and honour? Who is the man to whose care she cannot help but entrust herself, now? Who is the man ..." Her voice shook patently. "...who is now master of her life and her destiny?"

And then a strange thing happened.

The voice was heard again. But this time it was like a kind of low muttering, pervaded, someway, with an obscure, restrained rage.

"Destiny, my Lady, is a whore who sells herself to the highest bidder."

But the Princess had no way even only to grasp those raw and enigmatic words.

The voice. Again. Again rough and courteous and sarcastic. Again itself.

"I am dismayed, my Lady, but I'm afraid to be unable to meet your desire at present. I would prefer to introduce myself to you at the moment when I will take care of you, I mean for real, not here, in this dead courtyard full of dead corps."

"But..."

"The care, I remind you, Your Grace, to which you can't help but entrust yourself. Just as you yourself have said."

And that last sentence sounded really obscurely menacing, almost darkly intimidating.

And the Princess wrapped herself even more in the mantle, vainly seeking shelter from the cold she felt increase within much more than outside.

What would it have been, her destiny?

What would he have done of her, this Human, faceless and... nameless?

But she took courage. She was the Princess Alel, for all the gods! She could not let herself be daunted!

And she wanted to know.

"Why are you secretive? Why don't you want to tell me who you are? Now or... or after, what does it matter? Why are you... why are you playing with me? Why don't you tell me your name?"

"Because he has no name, Princess!"

In unison the Princess and the Human turned their head toward the voice that suddenly, shrill and strong, had torn apart the air.

The handmaiden. Over there. Naked and kneeling, dishevelled and shivering.

Both the Princess and the Human had ignored her, both too busy to study each other. Not even the Princess had longer thought about her, in the tension of those moments.

But she was there, she too alive, as the Princess.

She had always been there.

She had seen the big human shadow get closer, had seen him approach her Princess, had heard him talk. She had heard it all.

And had understood. Had understood who was the living shadow who did not want to say who he was.

Her mind was beautiful and simple, as her heart.

And to her heart, to her mind, it was not difficult, indeed it was even easy, to accept to see be translated into palpable reality, to see come to life, stories, _ghastly_ stories, heard, listened, perceived as such, but evidently - and horribly! - capable of becoming living matter.

Of speaking and acting.

Of appearing in the flesh before the eyes hers and of her Princess.

The handmaiden jumped up.

Hands balled into fists, wide-eyed in terror.

She screamed.

" **He's the Nameless One!** "

* * *

"No face, no name. A shadow without identity. Who has fun in being sarcastic and arousing fear. Truly likeable, our Saviour."

"Adun..."

"I admit. Me too, I enjoy being sardonic, but I hope not to be exactly so."

"You're not!"

"Thank God. I was a little worried."

"T'hai'la, when will you stop identifying yourself with the… Nameless One?"

"T'Pol, not that I want to identify myself with him. The fact is that I am him, damn it!"

"Not exactly."

"Is it not so?"

"No. Given that he comes temporally before you, it seems logical to assume that it's rather him to be you, or, better, to carry within him the seed of what he will be, namely you."

"Mh. Okay. I accept your logic, of course. And does that change things?"

"Definitely."

"That is to say?"

"If you were him, you would be bad. But if he's you, if he carries within himself the germ of you, he can not but have something good. Inevitably. Because you're good."

"Oh, thank you. Really comforting."

"K'diwa ..."

"Okay, okay. I'm sorry, honey. You're right. I have to stop being sarcastic as... as the saviour. And, believe me, my love; I'm happy that you consider me good."

"Well, not really a saint, as you would say, and as you yourself have pointed out before. But... let's say that to me you're okay so."

"Oh, thank God, again."

T'Pol smiled again. And how could it be possible not to do so?

"Adun, for that matter, think carefully... do you think that I do like to think that the Elven Princess is me? In accordance with your… imaginative logic?"

"Mh. Yeah. I understand. A wee bit emotional, eh, our Princess?"

"Precisely. And… even a wee bit truculent, to be honest."

"Oh well, yes, I understand. But T'Pol ..."

"Adun?"

"Am I wrong or the ancient history of Vulcan was swarming with warrior princesses? Maybe also slightly… truculent?"

"So... so it is said."

"Mh. Yeah. Sure."

Trip frowned, thoughtfully, but also subtly mocking. T'Pol now had learned very well to sense his peculiar _'triptical'_ human mood.

"Do you know, sweetheart?"

"What, Adun?"

"Princess after Princess, from that Elven Princess, passing through the mythical warrior princesses of Vulcan, I really feel that we have reached you."

"So, if I understand well, I'd be a warrior princess of the ancient history of Vulcan?"

"Let's say you have all it takes to be that."

"Do I have to keep it for what you call a compliment, Adun?"

"Absolutely, darlin'."

"All right. I'll take it for that. Although I feel that it is a vision of things not properly vulcan."

"It's a rather romantic vision, you mean."

"Exactly."

"But T'Pol, my sweet wifey! I'm a romantic! Therefore, if you want me, you have to take even my whole romanticism! "

"Yeah. I know. And the problem is that I want you. "

Trip patted T'Pol's cheek.

"Big deal, this, huh, honey?"

Blatantly and with pleasure, T'Pol smiled again. Mh, she had to be careful. She was beginning to like to smile.

"Big. Very big. And with a unique solution. "

"Oh yes? And which?"

"That of not even trying to solve it."

"No?"

"No."

"So? Could you clarify to my illogical poor human brain the logic of your statement? "

"Adun, logic teaches that not all problems have a solution and when you bump into a problem like this it is illogical trying to find an answer. The only logical thing to do is to accept things for what they are."

"And that is?"

"In this specific case, the only logical thing for me to do is to accept that I want you. With all your romanticism."

Trip laughed and held tight to him his T'Pol. "Welcome the logic, in this case, honey!"

And T'Pol smiled again. Mh, later it would have been appropriate for her to devote herself with a reasonable amount of attention to meditation. Oh, well, here... much later, after she had fulfilled the promises she had made to her soul mate and to herself concerning… certain adequate demonstrations of affection to execute with a decidedly extensive profusion of zealous enthusiasm. A task far from difficult, to tell the truth.

"Fine. Having put things in clear, do we go on to read, T'hai'la? "

"Yes, of course." Trip assumed a contrite expression. "Forgive me, T'Pol."

T'Pol raised her eyebrow, without understanding. "For what, Adun?"

"I know, I am constantly interrupting reading, but... well... try to understand me ..."

"Yes?"

"You can also be an Elvish Princess a little too emotive and gory, but I'm a saviour rather bad. And... and it is not nice to know that, going forward in reading, I will come to know _how much_ bad. "

T'Pol clung to Trip. "But remember what I told you, Ashal-veh; that in him, hidden somewhere, it's nevertheless burning the spark of what you will be. So then..."

"So then there is hope for him. I know. We have already said. And I'm glad you think this about me. But..."

"But?"

"I do not like it at all that to pay the price of his redemption it has to be the princess, and namely you!"

"You believe that the saviour... "

"I do not believe. I know. Both of us know that. And you yourself said it to me."

"Adun ..." T'Pol looked straight at Trip. "If, for having you, I were to go through the most atrocious torments and if I were to undergo these torments from you, I would do it with joy. Without a second thought."

Trip stood breathless.

"T...T'Pol! My love!"

"And think instead that it was me the one who tormented you!"

"Well..."

"Not so, Adun?"

"Oh... well..." Trip smiled sweetly. "Maybe it's true. But ..."

"It's true!"

"Okay, it's true. Nevertheless..."

"Nevertheless?"

"Well, put it this way, T'Pol. It is the law of retaliation. "

"The law of retaliation?"

"Yup. One of the many trifles we Humans love to delight ourselves with. I, namely the other myself who is the saviour, make suffer - for now I prefer not to think about how and how much - the Princess, namely you. And you, namely the Princess, have made suffer me, namely him. "

"Oh. Interesting principle. "

"Do you find?"

"Yes. Especially because characterized by a perfect logic. "

"Huh?"

"Yes. It is an algebraic matter. Adding up the sufferings of the Princess, namely my sufferings, with your sufferings, namely of the saviour, and since it is logical to consider them of equal value and of opposite sign, the sum is zero. "

"Ze... zero?"

"Zero."

"Oh my gosh!"

"But there's more."

"More?"

"Yes. Continuing our algebraic reasoning, zero is the generator of all natural numbers, which is an infinite set, limited downwards by the origin point, the zero, but unlimited upward. Just like our... our..."

"Our love, T'Pol?"

"Y...yyyes."

"And would be me, the romantic?"

Well, Trip was a gentleman. This is beyond doubt. And, therefore, not even under torture, he would have dared to contradict those who stated that it is absolutely impossible for the Vulcans to blush by bringing in testimony that he had seen one of them become red in the face... viz green, being Vulcan... in such a striking way as to be astounding.

His T'Pol at that time.

He pressed her in his arms so strongly as to be even hurtful.

"T'Pol! You are absolutely wonderful."

Trip felt her sigh against his chest. Then he heard her cough slightly, clear her throat.

She freed herself gently from his embrace. She looked into his eyes. She was not smiling now, at least not with the mouth.

But what a wonderful riant light shone in her eyes!

And how laughed her voice!

"Can we continue, Ashayam?"

He nodded, his lips curved in a soft, happy smile.

"Let's go forward, T'Pol, yes. I would say that we have sufficiently exorcised our anxieties."

"Exorcised?"

"Yes. I think... I think we both have less fear to penetrate deeply into the darkest part of the story. This goes for me, at least, but I am persuaded that it also applies to you, who're already familiar with it."

T'Pol's eyes widened. Yes. It was true. Somehow their talking, the things they said to each other, made more acceptable the impact of what they were going reading.

Trip... had he done it on purpose? That is, his continuous stopping the reading, his inducing her to talk to him that way, even cheerful, even light-hearted, was it a deliberate way to... to break up the force of that impact? To make it more tolerable?

It was not hard for T'Pol to believe so. Trip... her Trip was... he was a magician, in this! Even more than the magician he was with his machines!

He was... oh he really deserved to be what he was for her! Her... her...

She had to tell him! Oh sure. He was already well aware of this! But she had to tell him again! And with strength! And... and in his own way. With his sweet irony. Oh, well, actually with the gentle irony he had for her. Eh sure, because, in truth, his irony was not precisely sweet with those who were not her. But with her... it was not irony; it was simply… Ashaya!

Yes. She had to. And not just because her heart was bursting with desire to do so, but also because... because she knew he would go into raptures in hearing it. And in hearing it that way. And it would be wonderful to enjoy his happiness!

"Trip?"

"Sweetheart?"

"Let us go on to read. But before ..."

"Yes?"

"I think there is another consideration, always to stay on the subject of exorcization."

"Ah yes?"

"Yes. See, come to think, there is a difference of no small matter between you and the saviour, a difference that should reassure you supremely."

"Oh. And which?"

"He is the Nameless One, Trip. He has no name. Whereas you've got a name. "

"Well yes, of course. I do not understand where you want to arrive and why this should reassure me supremely, but this is true. In fact I've got a name. My name is..."

"Ashayam."

"Huh?"

"To be precise, Ashayam-of-T'Pol. A perfect triplet. A... _Trip_."

For a few moments, Trip could not even talk.

Then he laughed. And he laughed and laughed and laughed. Of heart, cheerfully. Happy. Glad.

And T'Pol rejoiced in his joy.

And the Bond between them laughed with Trip and rejoiced with T'Pol.

He calmed down at the end. With tears in his eyes with laughing, he managed to speak.

"Okay. Exorcization completed, I would say. Let's move on, now."

"Let's move on, Ashayam-of-T'Pol."

* * *

 _ **End of Chapter Thirteen**_

 _ **TBC**_

 **OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO**

 _The darkest pages are about to start, my friends._

 _Be ready, if you can._


	14. The Ears of the Elves - Chapter Fourteen

**The Ears of the Elves**

 **By Asso**

 **Chapter Fourteen**

* * *

 _Another short chapter, my friends._

 _But how could it be possible for me to be able to add a few more words?_

 _There are times when you can not but stay silent._

 _Like when you're forced to look at the face... the face..._

 _Oh, please read, my friends! I have not the heart to say anything else!_

* * *

 **The Ears of the Elves**

 **Chapter Fourteen**

 **OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO**

The Nameless One?

But... but it was a legend, a story whispered by the wind in the trees, at night.

It did not exist, the Nameless One!

Did not... did not exist the…the Murderess Predator!

It did not exist the unreal and obscure being that had no other name than the name of a being with no name.

 _The Nameless One!_

What... what ever was Atana saying? How could she think to say what she was saying?

She was... she was shocked! Yes! She was upset! She did not know what she was saying!

It could not be true that that rough and yet courteous and elegant and enticing voice was the voice of the ghost without face nor name if not those of the maddest dread.

It could not be true that, there, next to them, there was the deadly spectre that was murmured in a faint voice that was wandering in the far North, in those barren and desolate and deserted regions, avoided by any living thing, swept by the frozen wind and by the everlasting blizzards, abandoned, never inhabited, never merely explored, not even by the Great Elves of the early days, for penetrating from there into the lush woods and in the fertile fields of the South, kissed by sunshine of life.

Sometimes.

From time to time.

When he was... on the prowl.

Among Elves and Humans.

 **It was not true!**

That was a Human!

A Human!

He had said it! He himself!

It was not the Nameless One!

 _The Nameless One didn't exist!_

* * *

"Mh, yeah. Just like the King. He too didn't exist. Just so. The devil... And what ever is the devil?"

"Trip."

"Sorry, sorry, sorry! I'll stop, I'll stop, T'Pol! I promise. Really. I swear. I swear!"

T'Pol sighed. "Alright, T'hai'la. Can we continue?"

"Sure, honey. Let's move on."

T'Pol's hand free from the PADD began to gently caress the blond cowlick that she and only she knew being stubbornly twisted, fluffy, just above the left ear of her T'hai'la.

"Okay, K'diwa. Let's continue."

* * *

"Ah, then, is it so great, my fame?"

 _No! It was not true!_

"What an honour. I'm truly flattered."

 _ **Those words**_ _were not true! The ones she was hearing. Those that the Human was saying._

"Knowing that even a maidservant, definitely beautiful, that's to be said, and certainly cultured, as indubitably you're, knows who is the Nameless One..."

 _They were untrue words! The Nameless One did not exist!_

"... it is rewarding, I would say."

 _They were not true! NOT TRUE!_ _ **The Nameless One did not exist!**_

"My comely damsel, I am pleased to tell you…"

 _It could not be his, that voice. That voice that was speaking._ _ **The Nameless One did not exist!**_

"…that you are in the right."

 _What was it saying, that voice? WHAT WAS IT SAYING?_ _ **THE NAMELESS ONE DID NOT EXIST!**_

"I, actually, am the one they call…"

 _ **THE. NAMELESS. ONE. DID. NOT. EXIST!**_

"… the Nameless One."

 **It was him!**

 **WAS HIM!**

He existed.

And was there, next to her.

It was the Nameless One the one who had saved her and Atana.

It was the Nameless One the faceless shadow that, now, his back to her, was advancing slowly towards her handmaiden, who was watching him, naked, standing, wide-eyed, gasping.

It was the Nameless One the one who now, at that precise moment, was stopping in front of Atana, in the dark, in the cold of the night, now almost completely wrapped around the world.

It was him the one who was addressing Atana.

It was on him, on the nameless dread turned into a living reality, that the eyes of Atana were focused, wide open and overflowing with inexpressible terror.

And his was the deep and mocking voice that spoke to Atana. A voice that now fully disclosed the subtle and yet palpable fear that it was capable of inspiring; now that, thanks to the clarity of the simple and keen heart of her handmaiden, the Princess was able to realize what her spirit had understood from the beginning, but that her mind had refused to accept.

"Of course, my dear maiden, now the question arises for me to prove that I speak the truth when I state that I am precisely the Nameless One. Who knows, maybe I could think to act in accordance to the fame - Oh, slightly exaggerated! Please believe me! - that surrounds my name or, better said, my un-name. What do you say, my sweet girl? Could it go well? "

Suddenly, at those words, vivid and terrible memories awoke in the mind of the Princess, with frightening perspicuity. The memories of the stories that her nanny narrated to her in her happy childhood, when the splendour still enveloped the Enchanted Kingdom of her parents, when they were still alive, when the infamous ax of the Humans had not yet descended, pitiless and destructive, upon the spiers, gleaming among the woods, of the Realm of the Realms of the Elves.

Kids love to be frightened by scary stories. They love to abandon themselves to their terrifying attraction, for then rejoicing the reassuring safety of their quiet and secure house and the salvific embrace of their loved ones.

So it is for all the kids.

So it is also for the elven kids.

So it had been for her, for the Princess Alel, when she had not yet been forced to become the Wandering Princess, fleeing from the ruination and in the vain search for a Prince, a Champion, who could be able to resurrect together with her the glory of the Elves.

And the most terrible of those memories, the most terrifying of those stories, recounted of the Nameless One.

The Murderess Predator.

The One without face nor name.

Who had sprung up from nowhere to bring pain and death.

To all.

To Elves and Humans.

But those were stories.

Fairy tales for children.

Or, at most, for teens eager for strong and unreal emotions, as it had been for her and for Atana, before the world had collapsed on them with emotions far stronger than those of the fantastic and horrific stories that fascinated so much and far more tragically real than those ones.

And instead now the Nameless One was there.

Alive and real.

And he was saying that, to demonstrate he was really the Nameless One, he would act exactly as the Nameless One would do.

And if even only a minimal fraction of the feral cruelty that it was said that he possessed had been true, her destiny and that of Atana, but especially hers, would have been a destiny of unspeakable suffering and endless.

Atana…

What she, Atana, her faithful handmaiden, her friend and confidant all her life, had had to suffer before she, her Princess, had been able to save her, would be nothing compared to what now was in store for her, for the handmaiden that she was.

But she… she, Alel, the Elfish High Princess…

The fate that the Humans slaughtered by her supposed saviour had been about to make her undergo would have been a happy fate compared to what now was in store for her, for the Princess that she was.

Because she was the Princess Alel.

And the fate that the Nameless One had in store for her would be a fate of inexpressible pain, of body and spirit, the fate that in the monstrous mind of that monstrous being was most fitting to the rank that she held.

Now the Princess understood well what had been concealed behind that blue and cold eye, what the mind of that nightmarish being was thinking when he was deciding what to do of her.

That monstrous mind was thinking about what could be the monstrous fate that it would have rejoiced to earmark for her.

A flesh toy, from which squeezing tears of pain and of humiliation.

Without hope, without a glimmer of light, without anything that was not bleak and black suffering.

And fear.

And terror.

Despair.

And brutalization. Degradation.

Repugnant.

Abhorrent.

Demeaning.

Mortifying

From which she would have had no way to escape. Not even with death.

Which would have reduced her to implore, on her knees, with folded hands, with her face streaked with useless tears, a mercy that would never come.

This would be her life.

 **THIS!**

No no! NO! **NO!**

 **NOOOO!**

It could not be so!

IT WOULD NOT HAVE BEEN SO!

 **IT WOULD NOT HAVE BEEN!**

The sword! Where was her sword? HER SWORD!

There! It was there!

He was not looking. He was watching Atana. His warriors, his strange, ragged, warriors were there, far away, on the battlements. Quiet. And unprepared.

The Princess sprang.

The cloak he had thrown around her flew away. All of a sudden.

Her nimble and ferine body leapt.

A flicker.

A flash.

Here.

HERE!

The sword, HER sword, was in her hands. Again.

And its feral tip was pointed at her chest.

For the deadly hara-kiri which would give her the peace.

Finally.

Which would make her free from her opprobrious destiny.

Her hands clenched convulsively the hilt of her sword, ready to give death to its mistress.

In struggle.

In struggle as her tortured mind.

In struggle.

In fight.

Desperate.

Against the heart-wrenching thought that Atana wouldn't have been able to enjoy that peace.

That she was betraying her.

That she was leaving her to her fate.

And at that thought, her hands trembled.

They lingered.

And her sword didn't snap to inflict the fatal blow.

And that was enough.

 _Her hesitation_ was enough.

The instant, the only instant that she could use, passed.

Two powerful arms, frighteningly strong.

Around her.

From behind her.

Two big hands, frighteningly strong.

Tight around her wrists.

Frighteningly mighty.

Frighteningly clenching her wrists.

Painfully.

And that voice.

Again.

From behind her shoulders. From above her shoulders. On top of her.

Low.

A hiss.

Sardonic and malignant.

"Oh no. Not this, my Lady. A body as beautiful as yours deserves a better fate."

And the laugh.

The laugh again.

That low, bad, laugh.

That sneering laugh.

Which made you cringe.

Now much more and with much more awareness than before.

"Decidedly better, my delightful Princess."

Which made your flesh creep.

"At least from my personal point of view, my charming Royal Highness."

And the Princess's wrists creaked, in the merciless grip of those big steel hands. And hers were forced to open up. And to let fall to the ground the sharp blade, mercifully spared from having to drink the blood of its mistress.

But guiltless fashioner, thus, of the fate of blind desperation and pain that would be her fate.

Her tried body, her frustrated mind, her scared heart, much as indomitable her spirit may have been, could not resist and a painful moan made its way from the depths of her soul. Faint, heartbreaking, it broke out on her lips.

"Ahhhh ..."

"Oh, excuse me, my lovely Princess!"

Oh, that voice! That voice, charming and damned! And evilly mocking! Yet again. One more time! Just on her ear. _Inside_ her ear.

The two arms of stone clenched her unmercifully.

And that voice... that rough and mocking voice. That _alluring_ and mocking voice. That voice spoke again. Hushed and grim. To her ear, defenceless against that voice just like her body was defenceless against those massive arms and merciless.

"I let myself get carried away by my impetuous temper. Sometimes I do not realize my strength."

And those arms clasped her even more strongly, in an embrace which did hurt. And the voice... oh that damn voice!

Which whispered to her ear.

Which sniggered, sneering, into her ear.

"Odd, is not it? A Human, such as I am, who's stronger than an Elf. And bigger than an Elf. Mightier than an Elf. Really, sometimes nature plays strange tricks."

The voice became even lower. And no longer mocking. It resounded again quivering with a terrifying repressed rage.

"I know. I know it well."

And as if she were a twig, those arms bent her to their will. They turned her violently.

Her face suddenly found itself facing the face of... of the master of her destiny.

And her eyes, wide open and petrified, could see.

In the spooky light of the torches that someone, his men, obviously, who – having swiftly approached them, unnoticed, in seeing what was happening, - had turned on so as to enlighten the courtyard, the Princess's eyes could see.

Fully and perfectly.

His face.

And the Princess remained unable even to utter a single word.

Almost, her lungs ceased to breathe.

While her gaze was fixed on that face.

While that voice hissed, low, in the cold air, lashed by the flickering and uncertain light of the sibilant flame of the torches. Just upon her visage. With a tone of grim and rabid grudge. And of sorrow. Of endless sadness. Vainly trying, this time, to show a snide sarcasm that was not there.

"As you can see, my enchanting Princess, it's impossible for me not to know. How could it be otherwise, since I'm the most successful of the freaks of nature?"

The blue eye...

It was magnificently beautiful now that the Princess could see well that face.

It was starry, topped with a perfect and arched eyebrow, blond as the blond tuft of hair sticking out from under the hat.

And it was…

It was the only thing that had a normal appearance, in that face... in that face of a beast!

The face of a monster that attempted to appear human.

The Princess, astonished and horrified, found herself wondering how it was the other eye, that one hidden behind the black blindfold that covered the left orbit. Or... or if there was for real another eye!

Her eyes examined, appalled, every trait of that face, whose every feature managed to be at the same time both human and bestial.

The face of a beast.

The face of a man.

With the face of a beast.

Of a monster.

With the eye desperately sad, desperately rabid, of the Human who lay behind that face of monster.

The eyes of the Princess could not break away from that eye, from that face.

They watched it.

Stared at it.

While her heart was pounding like mad.

While her breathing was breaking.

That face of... of human beast.

Hirsute. Greyish. Angular.

And furrowed...

The Princess's gaze lingered, as her soul shivered, on the weft, on the endless spiderweb, of livid scars that marked that face everywhere and in every direction.

Wounds.

Countless.

Which gave even more horror to that face. To that... to that snout. Horrible. And mournfully - despairingly - human.

* * *

 _ **End of Chapter Fourteen**_

 _ **TBC**_

 **OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO**

 _Give me a moment of time, my friends._

 _And also to the Princess._

 _And to Trip, too, as well as to T'Pol, although she has already had the way to remain horrified in reading the fable._

 _The face of the Saviour wants a moment of respite._


	15. The Ears of the Elves - Chapter Fifteen

**The Ears of the Elves**

 **By Asso**

 **Chapter Fifteen**

* * *

 _Here, my friends, we will know something more of the saviour, the Nameless One._

 _And it won't be something good._

 _Can there be hope for him?_

* * *

 **The Ears of the Elves**

 **Chapter Fifteen**

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

"But ... but T'Pol! Yes, yes, I know. I have to stop with my childish interruptions. Sure. Of course. But... but ..."

T'Pol pulled herself a little bit up. Not too much though. Just what was enough to look at her husband's face. She liked madly to stay sitting on his lap. Okay, not exactly suitable for the strictness of the behaviour of a Vulcan... however - can you think otherwise? - damn nice! Actually, on second thoughts... oh well, she was not at all sure she would not have done it also in public. Maybe pretending to be recalcitrant, maybe not always, maybe just sometimes, when the circumstances had been appropriate, but there was nothing to be ashamed to do it. Indeed, to want to think of it, it would be ... ahem ... it would have been illogical not to do it. Was Trip her Adun or not? He was, for the beard of Surak! So then, she ... oh, damnit! ... she, as a good vulcan wife, had to comply to fulfil his wishes. With good will and pleasure. And if then, these desires of him were also the desires - and the pleasures - of her... well these were their business. Hers and of her… Husband and Lord.

"What troubles you, my Lord?"

"My Lord? Oh yes, yes, of course. Your lord. Sure. Well, it's that..."

"Yes?"

"Oh well, T'Pol! I know, I've already asked it to you and you have already given me some sort of answer, but I want to... I mean… why you… how did you…?"

"How what, T'hai'la?"

"Oh damn! How the hell did you do to let yourself be dragged to such an extent in reading this... this... this soap opera? It's nice, I do not deny it. And now the two of us know, both, that it means something much more than a simple tale. But when you started and especially when you have continued to read it, you... you did not know anything of all this! And it is… T'Pol! It is far the one thousand miles from your... from your... "

"From my, as Phlox would say, behavioural and mental habits?"

"Oh to hell! Yup! Just like that!"

"My Adun, don't you think that the way I came into possession of this fable, that everything I've told you about that, may be a reason more than logical for this… behavioural deviation on my part?"

"Oh, come on, T'Pol! Of course it's a reason more than logical. But you ..." Trip looked straight at T'Pol. "... but you have let yourself get involved in the reading far beyond logic."

Trip smiled slyly and, at the same time - T'Pol felt clearly and perceived it equally clearly - in a sympathetic way and also participatory and understanding.

"You, babe, have been shocked by this story, upset by it, and you have good reasons, now we're both well aware of that, although I do not know yet why you persist in being reticent, what are, or, rather, what were the motivations of your being upset, I want to say, prior to the logical conclusions we reached about it, and irrespective of them. _Logical_ conclusions. Imaginative, I grant you, but logical. However, you've let yourself get carried away by the reading before we could arrive at these conclusions, before we could realize that behind the fairy tale there are the two of us, both as actors and as authors or, if you prefer, as its inspirers."

Trip shook his head. "No, you do not give it to me to drink, my babe." He smiled broadly. "By now I know you, little mask. You can't fool me any longer. You've let yourself be dragged in reading this story because you... "

"Because I like it. Yes."

T'Pol sighed, biting, without showing it, the bullet, rather hard to chew for her, of having to admit to herself and to her Adun that it was actually true, that indeed she had often, too often, entrenched herself behind the… little mask of her Vulcanity to hide her frailty and her… and her innate emotionality, without realizing that revealing it to him, to her Adun, her fragility and her not too much vulcan emotionality, it meant acquiring a far greater force and self-confidence, those whose roots sank into the love he had for her.

"It is true. I... I can not fool you any longer, my T'hai'la, neither I want. Regardless of any other reason, I found the tale tremendously addictive. I could not tear myself away from it, until I have read it all. And all in one breath, as you would say. "

"Mh. A fable that speaks of monster-faced Humans! T'Pol, how..."

"Not of Humans, but of _one_ Human! A Human who..."

"Who it's me, T'Pol!"

"Yes, yes!" T'Pol nearly cried out. "Yes. It is true. It is true!" Then she calmed down. She put a hand on Trip's lips as if to prevent any word from being able to come out. "And maybe... maybe, I... I knew it before even knowing it, and therefore I read the fairy tale from the beginning, by drinking it word for word. Because I knew, I sensed, that this story was a story about you. About... about us. Even if it was you to make me understand that I am the Princess and you... "

"The Human without name and with the face of a beast."

Abruptly and swiftly, T'Pol stood up, still holding the PADD. She looked sternly at Trip. "But with a beautiful blue eye, Trip."

Trip frowned. "A beautiful..."

"Blue eye. Yes. Intensely blue. Intensely beautiful. _And intensely human._ " And T'Pol stressed forcefully her last words.

"Intens..."

"Human. Like yours. "

Trip for a moment did not speak. Simply, he watched T'Pol with his eyes. Intensely blue, intensely beautiful and intensely human.

Then his arm snapped to grab T'Pol by the waist. He drew her, gently but firmly, to sit again on his lap.

"Come on, T'Pol. Let's go on. We are at a crucial point. The Nameless One is now no longer faceless and I'm really curious to know what happens right now, to know something more about his… ugly mug. "

He laughed softly. "Damn! In life, I have happened all sorts of things, but that of having the face of a monster... well, this had never happened to me. "

He winked at her. "At least in this universe. What do you say? Might there be another universe, somewhere, where my face may be definable as not exactly beautiful, always assuming that it may be deemed this way here, in our universe? Who knows, a face disfigured for example by a scar quite unpleasant to look at and, perhaps, exterior mirror of a soul not exactly beautiful, just as the face, if I interpret well what's really a great compliment for me on your part. To keep the metaphor, an universe... yeah, some kind of a mirror universe, reversed with respect to ours. Dark. The dark side of ours."

T'Pol settled comfortably and with every care in his lap. "Interesting question. Imaginative, of course, but, as I have already had occasion to point out, you, just like your logic, _are_ imaginative, in every aspect of your… colourful personality, Adun. It's however a question devoid of answers, in the current state. I think it is more appropriate exploring together your... face in this universe, the one we live in. Or, rather, the face - and the reasons of its aspect - of the yourself who lived in this same universe, that one we live in, at the time of the fable we're reading."

Trip smiled with conviction.

"Always faultlessly logical, my ineffable vulcan wife. So come on. As I said, the moment is crucial, I believe. What happens now? What is the reaction of the Princess in seeing the face - the snout - of the Nameless One? What she does? Or says or... "

"She, nothing."

"Eh? But ..."

"The ball, as you would say, is in the hands of the Nameless One."

"Ah."

"So..." T'Pol pointed her finger on the point on the PADD from where resuming reading. "Here it is."

Her lips moved, by starting to read again.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw that also Trip's lips were moving, to read silently together with her.

* * *

"Not precisely an ordinary face, mine, is it, Princess? Well, of course, very differently from what unquestionably has to be said of yours, it can't properly be defined attractive, but... what do you say? Could it be qualified at least as _'interesting'_?"

The Princess did not react to those words, sarcastic and bitter.

Motionless and speechless, she could only stand by and watch that face, of beast and of man, on which the tormented light of torches played bad, highlighting those traits, ferine and human, in a ghostly manner.

She felt herself be shaken by her shoulders.

The steel hands that before had manoeuvred her like she was a twig, squeezed ruthlessly her naked flesh.

The beastly face breathed just on her face.

"So then? Is it interesting, my face, or it's not? Tell me something, my lovely Princess."

The Princess tried to rouse herself from her bewilderment.

But it was hard.

It was hard even to stutter.

"Int... int... interesting?"

"Ah. I understand."

The two mighty hands left her shoulders.

The monstrous face rose up, moving away from hers.

The giant beast-faced human drew himself up to his full tallness, towering over her like a mountain, her head arriving barely at the height of the half of his chest.

The light of the torches danced inside the blue eye sparkling in that face. On that muzzle.

The Nameless One stepped back, slowly, his eye fixed on her.

His monstrous head moved, as nodding.

He pivoted, turning his back to her.

Immovable, as a statue of salt, the Princess heard his voice.

Low.

Deep.

And not at all sardonic or mocking.

"Of course. I understand. I understand well, my Princess. My face can not even be interesting. It can only be..."

A pause. Heavy.

And...

Was that a sigh?

Yes. The Princess was sure. That was a sigh. So tenuous that only her sensitive ears could hear it.

And then the voice again.

Even lower, if possible.

Even deeper, if possible.

And rough. Like sandpaper.

And...

Rueful.

Of a harrowing gloom.

"... monstrous."

The Princess felt something inside, a sadness that smacked of despair. Without trace of light.

And... and it was not hers.

It was... it was coming from him.

Somehow she understood it.

 _It was coming from him._

From the Nameless One.

Under the lash of that heartrending sensation, the Princess shook herself, finally.

She moved. Stepped forward, towards the tall, dark figure, motionless, with his back turned to her.

She raised an arm, hesitantly, toward him.

Her voice was a whisper.

"My Lord..."

And the voice burst out, harsh and mighty. Wrathful. Furious. But controlled, someway.

A low, scary, restrained roar, even more frightening in its icy composure, into which you could perceive the burning heat of the most raging anger.

"I have said that I am not a Lord."

The Princess froze, remaining with her arm raised and her voice dead in her throat.

The black figure turned toward her.

The blue eye stared at her, glacial.

"There can not be a Lord with a face like mine."

What a repressed rage, what a resentment, in that voice! What a hatred!

The Princess retreated hastily, as if struck physically by all that rancour.

"A face like this, my Lady," And again the mockery. Again the sarcasm. Again the bitter scorn, in that voice. "can only be the face of one who deserves not even to have a name."

The giant figure moved forward, toward her, who, again, unconsciously backed away.

"My face."

Now the Human was on top of her. His monstrous face hissed from above, over hers.

"The face of the Nameless One."

The wrist of her arm which had remained raised as if she had forgotten its existence, was grabbed, suddenly, violently, by the mighty and ruthless right hand of the Human.

His face dropped on hers. His eye sank into hers, wide open, locked on to his.

"And, do you know, Your Highness? Someone says that the Nameless One is also the Soulless One."

The mocking and frightening sneer was heard again and, this time, the Princess could see the lips on that beastly face - those strange bloodless lips framing a very large mouth which in some way called to mind the jaws of a lion - rise up to show white teeth and shiny that looked... fangs.

"But it's not true. That someone says falsehoods or, rather, let's say that he _said_ falsehoods and that he... well... that he can no longer do that. You know, I do not like people who lie. Really reprehensible, worthy of the most definitive of punishments, maybe even accompanied by some well-thought-out additional chastisement, by way of preparation. In order to be properly incisive, obviously. Just for that."

The hand squeezed even more strongly the Princess's wrist. It twisted it. Forced her to bend.

A grimace of pain appeared on her face.

An inch away from hers, the leonine mouth spoke heavily on her mouth.

"What a vile lie! Claiming that the Nameless One is soulless! But how do you! The Nameless One has a soul. Sure that he has it!"

The leonine mouth smiled malignant on the lips of the Princess, whose eyes were wide as ever and were watering, now, for the fierce pain that that hand was inflicting on her.

* * *

"Did we get to the point, T'Pol? I... I mean, the Nameless One is about to rampage? Is going to... is going to...?"

T'Pol did not answer. She did a strange thing. She sniffed.

And Trip understood.

He pressed her to him.

"Let us go forward, T'Pol."

She nodded silently.

And began again.

* * *

The Princess curved her body, squirmed, trying to escape the painful grip of than steel hand, to limit, at least, the pain it was giving her.

And the hand clenched her wrist even more.

It forced her to bend her knees.

The monstrous mouth, those jaws of a lion, spoke again. Smiling, jeering and bad.

"Mh, maybe not exactly an entire soul. You know, it is said that the eyes are the windows of the soul, but, as you can see, my Princess Royal, I own only half of the normal eye outfit. What do you think? Could it be that I possess only a half-soul?"

The face of human beast went up. The blue eye observed the eyes of the Princess.

It saw the tears of pain that filled them.

The grip on the wrist of the Princess loosened a little.

The hand helped her to straighten up, but nothing at all gently, and didn't let go off her wrist. As a chain made of flesh, it kept on holding her tightly in its iron grip.

The leonine mouth spoke again. And without smiling anymore.

And the voice was no longer either malignant or mocking.

It resounded harsh.

Rang rough.

"Half soul. And if this half soul were also rough? And wounded?"

With a swift and sudden gesture, the hand snapped and brought that of the Princess to rest upon that beastly face.

It made her fingers run on that face, on the myriad of livid wounds that furrowed it.

"Rough, eh, Princess?"

The mockery, again. The sarcasm. Bitter and harsh.

"Certainly not very suited to the delicacy of your fingertips, I realize, but certainly suited to a half-soul like mine. Hard to believe that something of the roughness of my pretty face can't be mirrored in the half-soul I possess. And a soul, reduced to half, and rough, in addition... tell me, my Princess, can it work at its best? Mh. I'm afraid not. And these wounds then? These scars?"

The hand forced the fingers of the Princess to touch strongly those wounds, those scars.

The harsh voice sneered.

"Don't you think that at least a little of these wounds may also be wounds of my half-soul? That this too may be furrowed by some of these scars? Oh, sure. That's possible, especially considering how my face was wounded, how it has got these scars."

The hand let go off abruptly the Princess's wrist, it got rid of it almost violently and violently pushed her away, not a few steps of distance.

The Princess staggered under the violence of the push, but managed not to fall. Finally free from the ferocious stranglehold, she remained standing, rubbing her sore wrist, watching, with the eyes dimmed with tears, the Human who watched her in turn, silent, with that blue eye that seemed to want to pierce the dark of night.

The only noise in the courtyard was the sizzle of the torches.

And, then again, the voice of the Nameless One.

"Poor my soul. First, our dear Mother Nature, the first bidder to whom that bitch of my destiny sold itself. The price that our gentle Mother Nature had to pay was convenient for her. She spared half of my soul. A good price to be paid in exchange for the monstrosity that she had given to my face. She was so happy for the agreed price that, in addition, she left a little of the roughness of my face, of its spikiness, in the piece of soul that was left to me."

The voice stopped, while the Princess remained motionless. Waiting. In suspense. Even forgetful of her destiny, as the Human was revealing to her what had been _his_ destiny.

The Nameless One shook his monstrous head. And he spoke.

"The second buyer... no, sorry... the second _buyers_ have been the Humans."

The sneer came back to make heard itself. Sarcastic and sour.

"Just like that, my gracious Princess. My brothers of breed. But they were not very happy with the paid price. They thought that my greedy destiny had deceived them. What was he doing, a monstrous child like me, with the face of a beast, among them? To whom, to what monster, to what demon, had the mother of that child sold her body to carry in her womb a monstrosity of this kind? Oh, a mother like that did not deserve to live! Oh no, not at all! Nor, even less, the father, always assuming that the man who was at her side were indeed the father."

Another pause. Short. The Princess perceived, clearly, the rage. And the pain.

"And so, the monstrous child was left alone. But was not killed. Why? you will say, my Princess. Well, as you understand, the tribe in which that child was born did not shine for civil progress; let's say that it was rather backward and wild. Was, of course. Because now that tribe no longer exists."

The blue eye seemed to blaze in the dark.

"It is not clear how, it disappeared. News is incomplete and fragmentary. I am sure that you, Your Grace, have never heard of these happenings. You know, that tribe of Humans lived isolated on the edge of the vast lands whose elfish throne is yours by virtue of your high birth. Far away, in the far north, at the borders of the icy wastelands that surround to the north these lands bathed in sunshine. Someone says that all its members were slaughtered in a single night - it is also said horribly tortured before being massacred - at the hands of an unknown predator, without face nor name. A… Murderess Predator. But why? Might it be that he were in search of revenge?"

The Princess felt the cold penetrate into her bones. But it was not the cold of the night.

"Anyway, my Princess, such a barbaric tribe of Humans can not but fear the vengeance of the possible, monstrous being that, presumably, in their primitive minds, was to be the real father of a freak of nature such as that child was. And so that child was left alive. But, once it was realized that no unknown demon came forth to defend the child, who was left to feed on curds and dung, why not to try to improve a little that face of a beast? A few small cuts here, a few small cuts there, and maybe something could be done. Or, maybe, was it just the subtle pleasure to act cruelly on the monstrous face of a monstrous child? Of a human child who had nothing of human and just was to be scoffed and made suffer, because different? _Monstrously_ different. It is more likely to be so, considering the huge amount of hands who took turns at injuring that face and the enormous amount of scars that were left on it. And into the half-soul of that monstrous defenceless child. Defenceless. And small. But able to remember, for his misfortune. And who grew. And did not forget."

* * *

"D... damn, T'Pol! Maybe... maybe... after all... some valid reason to be not exactly good, our saviour... I mean, the Nameless One... he had! How... how do you do not getting impregnated with hate against a world which treats you this way? And it seems to me, from the way you read, that you share my thoughts. "

T'Pol raised her eyes from the PADD and looked thoughtfully at Trip.

She realized that, in her reading aloud the story, she had let herself be carried away by it even more than it had happened to her as often as she had read it before, to herself.

And she realized that her voice, in reading, had... had become literally inflamed with pathos.

With all her asserted vulcan self-control, she had not been able to avoid the intense tone, vibrant with emotional involvement and poignancy, with which she had found herself to give force to the reading. She had not even perceived she was doing it and, even in case she'd realized, she... oh, how could she deny it?... she would have not even thought of preventing herself from doing it.

Her Adun was right.

How couldn't anyone to share, somehow, the bitterness made of hatred, blazing in the Nameless One?

Not even Surak himself would have been able to avoid becoming imbued with hatred and resentment, if he had had to pass through what had had to be endured by the Nameless One.

But... but Surak had not what the Nameless One had. Surak did not possess within himself the spark of what the Nameless One would one day become.

Her Trip.

And Surak had not what the Nameless One would have had.

His Princess.

The Elven Princess who would one day become her, T'Pol.

Pride swelled the heart of T'Pol.

"Remember, my Adun. He is, in embryo, what will you. So..."

"So he will able to overcome his hatred. This is what you want to say, T'Pol?"

"Yes."

"As I did with the Xindi?"

"Yes."

"Because you were there, T'Pol."

"Yes." It was a word uttered with vehement pride. "And now the Nameless One met the Princess."

"His T'Pol."

"Yes, my Adun."

Trip smiled. "Mh, I think really he will be able to overcome his hatred."

T'Pol smiled, she too. If there was a time to do it, this was the time.

"Going forward, my T'hai'la?"

"Of course, my wifey. And then, it is priceless to hear your voice read with such an intense pathos."

T'Pol raised her eyebrow.

And went on.

* * *

The cold. The chill.

Inside.

Into the bones.

Into the heart.

The chill of that atrocious story.

And the icy, all-consuming grudge of that voice.

Which didn't give respite to the Princess.

"No. That human child with the face of a beast and only with a piece of soul, rough and wounded, filled with scars, did not forget."

A pause.

And then the voice again. Oh that voice! That voice which lashed, which wounded!

Which killed.

" _ **I**_... did not forget."

And then there was silence.

The Human, the Nameless One, was standing there, motionless and silent, watching the Princess, with his beautiful eye, glacial and scorching.

Around, silence.

Only the crackling of the flame of the torches.

In the hands of the men of the Nameless One.

All around them, in random order.

Motionless.

Silent.

Like their leader.

Watching the Princess.

Like their leader.

Waiting.

Like their leader.

For a reaction from her.

And she finally found the courage and the strength to react, to say something.

And it did take to her really a great courage, a tremendous force, because, at the bottom of her heart, she had understood. She knew why...

"Why..." Oh, how her voice trembled! "... why do you tell me all this, my Lor ..." She stopped just in time! "...why do you do that?"

The sarcastic voice rose up to answer her. Derisive and mocking more than ever.

"Your Gracious Highness, you know now that I am the Nameless One, you've gained knowledge of this prematurely and not in the dignified and elegantly prepared way with which, in my opinion, it would have been fairer for you to come to know that. But, so be it. Thus things went, thus destiny wanted, the usual destiny which doesn't harbour excessive sympathy for me. Now, it would have been really rude for me not to complete the presentation. Uncivil, not worthy of a princess of your so noble ancestry. You have graciously wanted to reveal to me your high rank. The least I could do at this point, once you have become aware of my identity, it was to reciprocate your sublime courtesy, although, I realize, you may rightly resent for the fact that this miserable, monstrous human being, by such a miserable birth and such a miserable walk of life, can also only have the audacity to address you, Your August Highness."

It took a moment for the Princess to reply, because she was torn, because, somehow, while not wishing, nevertheless contemporaneously she wanted to have a confirmation of her fears, since from that confirmation another confirmation could have arisen, that of a fate even worse than the one she had imagined it would have beaten down on her.

The fate of having to be her to pay the price... the price of...

Oh Lord of the Elves! What would have ever become of her, in that case? What Humans called hell would be for her what they called paradise!

But she wanted to know. She had to know! And so she formulated her question, while forcing herself to ignore the open sarcasm clearly perceptible in the words of the Human, a sarcasm even more obvious now, in the overblown politeness of his talking; now, after she had had to experience, in person, on her body, the violence that lurked behind that so courteous way of doing, ready to explode under the lash of the limitless rancour burning in the soul... in the half-soul, rough, full of indelible scars… of that dark Lord of Evil. Of that Prince of Darkness.

* * *

"A Prince of Darkness."

T'Pol looked up from the Padd.

"Adun?"

"T'Pol ..." Trip's gaze seemed a mirror full of thoughts. T'Pol remained worried of that as never before.

"Trip." Her hand went up, protective, to caress his face. "What's up?"

"T'Pol... this was the Prince of whom the Princess was in search? This is the Prince who will be assigned to her by fate? A lord of Evil? A prince, yes. But... a Prince of Darkness."

"Trip, please, I beg you. Remember that he…"

"Has inside the germ of me. Okay, I know. But, T'Pol, he is not already me. He is him, the himself that he is, and nothing else. A Lord of Evil. A Prince of Darkness."

"What...?"

"What I want to mean? I want to mean, T'Pol, that, after all, the King tried to be me because, through me, he could relive, exploiting the fact that in me there was what remained of him. But this saviour, this Nameless One, is not looking for a new life by means of me, exploiting the fact that he will become me. Merely, he is living - he lived - his life, unaware of me. And now, he exists no more. There's me, this is true, the good fruit, as you say, of what was hidden in him. But will he ever be able to make sprout up this good fruit during his lifetime? "

"I... I do not understand, T'hai'la. What are you trying to say?"

Trip took a deep breath.

"Honey, you made me understand that love will blossom between these two, the Elven Princess and her so said saviour. But what kind of love, T'Pol? Will it be a love... a beautiful love? Like ours? Or will it be a... damned love? Damned, like... like his lost soul? Like the love that flourished between the King and Lil? You told me that the Princess will save him. But how, T'Pol? Will she be able to save his damned soul? Or will get lost in his damnation? She too. Like Lil. There will be children, you yourself told me this right from the start of this... evening reading. But these children… what will they be, T'Pol? Will be children of evil?"

T'Pol remained for a long time watching Trip. Then, solemnly, she spoke to him, with a solemnity which was far more than the solemnity of her being a Vulcan.

"They won't be children of evil, Trip. You… have no idea of what they will be."

Trip watched dazed and confused T'Pol. Then, a light went on in his eyes. "The reason of your disconcertment."

T'Pol's eyes told him that he had hit the nail. So then, while looking at her with a significant air, he nodded to her and to himself. "Yes, it is so. The disconcertment that you have shown in the beginning, your confusion, preceding the bewilderment arising from our argumentations about the fable... the reason for that disconcertment, T'Pol, lies here, in these children. In what they will be."

T'Pol sighed and nodded in turn. With gravity. "It is so, my Adun."

Trip narrowed his eyes. "Okay. Eventually we got there, even though I still do not know what this reason is, but only where it lies. But a little at a time. A piece at a time. You're not yet ready to tell me what it is and... well... frankly me, too, I think not to be ready, at this point. I mean ready to hear from you abruptly and bluntly what is this reason. This fable, with all its implications and consequences... oh well, I just can not blame you, sweetheart...this fable disconcerts and... and frightens. So, let's go ahead exactly as we decided to do, by examining it gradually together. You'll feel more confident in rediscovering together with me this reason and I'll feel more confident in discovering it for the first time together with you. Everything will appear... how to say?... more normal and we shall rule things better." Trip smiled slyly but also gently." You know it. Together…" He laughed softly. "… you and I make a hell of a team."

Trip, perhaps, would have liked to add something, but he could not. The big smacking kiss that T'Pol deposited abruptly on his cheek shut up in his mouth any word he could think of to say.

Off guard and dumbfounded - _pleasantly_ dumbfounded - he stood silent for a second, as he was drowning into T'Pol's glistening eyes that seemed to want to eat him of love. Then, in some way, he managed to recover.

He cleared his throat. "Oh… ah… I mean… ooookay. I… I… I think it's better to go ahead and stay to hear the reply of the Princess to the Nameless One. I seem it's worth it and that we are only at the beginning of the story."

T'Pol spoke softly, with her mouth dangerously close to his lips. "You're right, T'hai'la."

"Yeah, sure, of course. In… in this case, c'mon." Trip pulled away a little bit from those succulent lips of her that seemed to say _eat us!_ Rather hard, to tell the truth, but there was another task to fulfil, at the time, more urgent. DAMN! "The night is short and…" He tried to take the initiative again, and winked slyly at her. "…you have a certain promise to keep, provided, obviously, that you have not changed your mind."

T'Pol's lips curled into an unequivocal mischievous smile. "My Husband and Lord, a Vulcan always keeps the promises. Certainly, there has to be time enough to do it, so, considering that the night, as you say, is short..."

"Oh my gosh! Let's not waste time, then!"

"At your wishes, my Husband and Lord."

And, immediately, T'Pol, properly sitting again and with vulcan dignity on the knees of Trip, gave voice to the voice of Princess.

She gave voice to her own voice.

* * *

"I… I understand. And I thank you. But..." The Princess could no longer restrain herself. Vehement and in one breath, the words gushed out in an impetuous stream from her lips and from her heart. "… but there a thing I don't understand. You... you speak in such a way! Your voice knows how to be courteous, your speaking is fluent. How... how is that possible? Oh, I beg your pardon, but... if indeed, as you say, so miserable it's your birth and so miserable the walk of life that destiny assigned you, whence... whence comes to you this knowledge, this ability?"

It was done. She had asked. And she had asked because... because she wanted to be disproved. She wanted to be disproved about the response that she was afraid she would have had.

But her heart knew.

Her heart knew, because... because it was not only among the Humans, who had treated him in such an ignoble way, that the Nameless One raged. The horrific stories that were told of him narrated that his cruelty was divided impartially, without distinction, between Humans... and Elves.

But…

But the things that were told about his ferocity against the Elves - things that her nanny had never remotely dreamed of telling her, but that she had learned later, in the years of her adolescence - those things were the image of the place of eternal pain after death that Humans called Hell! False things? Not true? But even he, the Nameless One, should have been false, not true. And instead he was there!

Yes, her heart knew.

And it trembled.

A few seconds passed, full of expectation.

The Princess could feel that even the men around them were in waiting.

Then, the Human moved. Slow and solemn - and black; and enormous - he walked toward her.

He stopped a few steps away from her.

Gigantic, enormous.

With his monstrous face of beast turned, stern and grim, to hers.

And in the only nice thing that could be seen on that horrible face, in that eye bluer than the sky, a fire glowed.

Scorching.

Which seemed to surmount the dancing light of the torches.

It was a matter of a moment and the fire died down, while the leonine mouth bared the human fangs hidden behind the lips in a smile without warmth.

"Oh really insightful! Really worthy of an Elf. Indeed, of a Princess of the Elves. Of _the_ Princess of the Elves."

The eye made of blue sky shone with sarcasm.

The Human approached one more step.

"Let's see to meet your legitimate curiosity."

One step yet.

"Actually, my Princess, that child could not learn anything from that tribe of uncouth and savage Humans, if not the art of survival, although, to be honest, he had to learn it all by himself."

Another step.

"Indeed, in the end, when the child had become old enough to reveal he was different not only in his face, but also in the body size and in the strength - a little too huge, in the ideas of that tribe - they decided to get rid once and for all of that human monster, before he became too difficult to… handle. So they threw him into a deep pit and with no way out, in the forest, to serve, if he had the good fortune not to crash to the ground in his fall, as meal for the beasts or to die of hunger, thirst and cold in the event that no beast had the courage to jump into that bottomless pit to reach him."

One more step.

The Princess resisted the urge to draw back.

"But at this point, my likeable destiny decided to sell itself again. You know, it believed it had not yet earned enough with me. It was possible to find another buyer. And this time, damn it, the bidder was really the best that my destiny could find."

One step yet. And the Human was on top of the Princess.

Towering, immense, over her. With the most vindictive and malicious of smiles stamped on his face of beast, which watched her from above of his height.

"Who do you think could be the ultimate buyer, my Princess? Who do you think could be the _buyers_ , plural once again, this time? Who pulled out me from that pit? After a very long time that I remained to cry and to scream and then to lie in silence, with no strength anymore, and to die bit by bit, in there? Who was happy to find such a wonderful - oh, sorry, monstrously wonderful - toy to play with?"

The Princess did not resist anymore. She tried to back away, to escape. But she could not. The huge hand, still the one right, snapped again and grabbed her from behind the neck.

The hand immobilised her head, bent it, forcing her to look up, without being able to move, at the monstrous face, at the leonine mouth that hissed over her.

"Who, my Princess?"

With her hands desperately trying to snatch from her that hand that was breaking her neck, with her eyes, wide open and terrified, fixed on that monstrous face, on that fiery blue eye, the Princess replied, in a whisper, under the lash of that living vise that was harrowing her flesh, that seemed wanting to shatter her vertebras, that was blocking her breath.

"The… the Elves?"

"Oh, what a perspicacity! Really! I congratulate you, Your Highness! You really deserve to be who you are. The Princess Alel. The heir to the throne of the thrones of the Elves."

The hand tightened even more. The pain became unbearable.

"Yes. Just like that, my lovely Princess. The Elves. Like you."

The hand tightened again.

The Princess felt dying.

"And who else if not them? Who else could have made of that monstrous child a man capable of expressing himself with clever glibness and with refined courtesy? Who else could have made of him a true… oh, sure… a true civilized man?"

 _No! Enough! She could not resist any longer!_

"The Elves. Of course. Like you. They have made of me what I am."

 _Enough!_ _ **Enough!**_

"They..." and the voce was now a low, wild roar!"...have scattered to the wind the last shreds of my soul."

 _ **ENOUGH!**_

"The Elves, Your Gracious Highness."

The hand lifted the Princess. Like a puppet.

It brought her purple face, her eyes, half-closed in agony, her mouth, open in a silent scream, at the height of the beastly face, of the leonine mouth.

"Like you."

* * *

"T'Pol! No! Stop! I can't… you can't…"

But this time T'Pol did not stop. Heedless that Trip were reading with her or not, heedless of his protests, she did not stop.

* * *

" **No! Let her alone! Leave alone my princess!** "

A fury ran over the Nameless One. A fury in the form of a female.

The handmaiden. Atana.

Like a cyclone she stormed on the damned monster who was martyrizing her Princess.

From behind.

Hitting his back and his shoulders with a hail of desperate punches.

"Let her alone! LET HER ALONE, I SAID!"

Who could have ever paid attention to her, in those predicaments? Nobody. But she was there. She had seen everything. She _was_ seeing everything and _was_ listening to everything.

And she had not thought twice, and not even one time, to lash out in fury and despair against the human mountain that was killing her Princess.

She, simply, had done it.

And the human mountain staggered under her futile, desperate onslaught.

The ruthless hand opened.

It let go its prey.

Dropped it to the ground like a pile of rags.

Then...

As the human huge mass turned abruptly...

That hand snapped.

And struck.

With tremendous force.

Atana was hurled away.

Far away.

She fell to the ground.

Inert.

As dead.

And the Princess...

It took some instants before she could regain consciousness of the world.

The pain... oh, the pain!

Her head!

Her brain!

Then the world, confusedly, cleared.

 _Her mind_ cleared.

And it realized what the Princess' senses had glimpsed.

What her eyes were seeing.

What her soul wouldn't have wanted to grasp.

Atana.

 _Atana!_

 _ **ATANA!**_

No. NO! **NO!**

" **NOOOOO!"**

The cry has been one with her mad leap.

The sword, her sword, found itself like magic in her hands.

And she was standing.

In a flash.

To deliver the deadly blow with her sword glittering with blind hatred.

Thirsty for blood, for revenge.

For death.

The sword flashed down, coruscant and deadly.

And it shattered into smithereens.

It broke into pieces.

Bumping against the left arm, raised as a shield, of the Nameless One.

In the night and in the bated silence, the Princess gasped, incredulous, unable to realize.

The monstrous face turned toward her. The blue eye looked at her. The leonine mouth smirked.

"A great job, isn't it, Princess? I mean my left forearm. Yes, a very good job."

The human mountain approached her.

"See, when I was thrown into that pit, I didn't break my neck, no, but my poor forearm had a... few minor problems and wanted not to hear of healing. The _pitiful_ Elves" - What an ugly sound, that _'pitiful_ ', in that beastly mouth! – "who took care of me for their purposes decided that, all things considered, for these purposes I would have gone even better if devoid of that unhealthy forearm and so they amputated it together with the entire hand. Without much ceremony, to be honest, quite careless of my being in agreement and, even less, of proceeding by trying to avoid giving me pain. But, after all, what sort of pain should ever feel a freak like me? And what ever can his feelings matter? Indeed, most likely he is devoid of feelings. Or of fears. He doesn't feel anything. Indeed, he _doesn't_ feel. And that's that."

The human mass came even closer.

"A real good luck - who knows, maybe at that time my buddy destiny was distracted - bumping, later, much later, into a very skilled elven blacksmith, a true genius in his field, and also, luck in luck, highly versed about elven and human anatomy, who, graciously and without any compulsion on my part – just… some kind invitation - managed to forge a new forearm for me, and also a hand. Everything in a nice, sturdy material, I must add. "

The Nameless One raised his left arm and, with his right hand, rolled up the sleeve that covered it.

A burnished iron cylinder appeared. Shaped in the shape of forearm.

His forearm.

Ending in a hand covered by a black glove.

The Nameless One pulled off the glove.

A burnished iron hand appeared. Or at least something that had the appearance of a hand. With a palm, a back, a thumb and four fingers of burnished iron. With the joints made of burnished iron gears.

His hand.

"Oh yes." The leonine mouth smirked again. "Really a very good job. Of course, this hand can not do much, to tell the truth, just some limited movement, just being opened and closed according to the contractions of the muscles of what remains of my native arm. But it opens and closes up quite well, as you have already been able to notice. Or maybe not? Yeah, actually I used almost exclusively my right hand, with you. Well, then what do you say? Maybe it is convenient to proceed with some further and, I am rather sure, convincing demonstration."

And, without warning, the hand snapped to grab the hilt, that, with a stub of blade, had remained as a useless relic in the hands of the Princess.

It took away the hilt from her hands.

It clenched around it.

The hilt crumpled into that hand.

The hand opened up.

The hilt, reduced to a gilded lump, fell to the ground with a dull thud, together with all that had remained of its lethal blade.

The grin, the satanic grin, shook the Princess from her benumbedness.

"Yes. Definitely well, do not you think, Your Royal Highness?"

The Princess did not even have mind to think, let alone try to conceive a semblance of response. But, on the other hand, she did have not even the time.

The hand, the right one, of the Nameless One snapped once again.

Almost, she did not see it get.

Almost, she didn't feel pain.

Darkness closed up around her.

* * *

"Bastard."

More than a word, an epithet, it was a whisper muttered through clenched teeth and exuding anger, and this time T'Pol did not dare say anything; neither in reply nor even less in comment.

She just looked at Trip with uncertain eyes.

"Do I... do we have to stop, Adun?"

Trip made a resolute sign of denial with his head, his eyes dark and gloomy.

"No. Let's go forward."

"I... Okay. As you wish, Ashayam."

* * *

The Nameless One remained motionless and silent watching the Princess, lying unconscious on the ground.

His eye peered at her, then darted over the other figure lying on the ground, the handmaiden.

His head beckoned.

One of his men immediately snapped in motion. He ran to the handmaiden and squatted on the ground beside her. He took her wrist and touched her neck.

"Dead?"

"No, my lord."

"Take her, bring her to the camp, give her to my doctors, to cure her wounds. Have her washed and dressed. Then, you know what you have to do with her."

His eye rested again on the Princess.

"Of her, I'll take care personally."

He approached the inert Princess, while some of his men executed his orders.

He bent.

He picked up the Princess and lifted her effortlessly into his arms.

She was small and petite, into his arms.

Her head was resting on his right arm, the one of flesh

He could feel her warmth on it.

He looked at her face, at her eyelids, closed over her eyes... how were they? Green. Yes. Green. And bright. Shiny.

Very beautiful.

As her face.

Yes. Beautiful, nothing to say. Definitely beautiful.

And even more with that long blond mane of her, that - the long, delicate tips of her pointed ears protruding from it - fell now downwards and backwards from her head, playing, shining of gold in the dark, on his arm.

Beautiful.

Like everything else in her, on the other hand.

His gaze ran along her body, abandoned into his arms, along its discovered forms, the fullness of her hips and of her thighs. It sank into her broad and torn neckline, inside the rotund and shapely floridness of her breasts.

Oh yes. Definitely beautiful.

Deserving of adequate attentions.

His only eye explored her curves, her exposed skin.

And he saw her gooseflesh.

He realized she was shaking.

She was shivering into his arms.

Was she trembling with fear, even in her fainting?

Or for the cold?

His head made a peremptory sign.

"My cloak."

A man rushed to pick it up. Trying not to approach if not the bare minimum, he handed it to his leader.

The Nameless One took it and - while he supported the Princess with only his right arm, only one, as often you must do with children – he started to cover with it her half naked and trembling body.

His left hand got busy with circumspection and, as much as it was coarse in the fine movements, it managed very well to wrap his cloak around her, so that she was completely shielded in it.

Then he went back to hold her with both his arms.

He felt that she gradually was ceasing to shake.

The skin of her face grew smoother.

Who knows if those magnificent green eyes that she had were quieter now, behind her closed eyelids.

The blue eye of the Nameless One watched intently her face, tranquil and relaxed now, as if she was simply sleeping.

Safe .

Into his arms.

Yeah.

Into his arms.

Abandoned in them.

His flesh could feel her warm flesh, through the fabric.

His arms, even the metallic one, could feel the weight, slight, of her body.

Its abandonment.

 _Her_ abandonment

The Nameless One shook his head. He looked up.

With the sleeping Princess into his arms, he started to walk with a determined doing.

At a proper and respectful distance, his men walked ahead, at the sides and behind him, with the torches in their hands to enlighten the way.

Shortly afterwards there was no longer a single living soul in the courtyard.

Only darkness remained.

Piteously occulting the floor dripping with death.

* * *

 _ **End of Chapter Fifteen**_

 _ **TBC**_

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

 _Is there hope for him? For the saviour? For the Nameless One?_

 _Can that beautiful face, that blond hair, those delicate pointed ears, those beautiful green eyes hidden behind the closed eyelids, that thin and beautiful body, abandoned, confident in his arms ... can they save his lost soul?_


	16. The Ears of the Elves - Chapter Sixteen

**The Ears of the Elves**

 **By Asso**

 **Chapter Sixteen**

* * *

 _And here we are, my friends._

 _The Princess is going to go to meet her fate._

 _Be strong, my friends._

* * *

 **The Ears of the Elves**

 **Chapter Sixteen**

 **ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo**

"Well, after all... yes, well... I mean... in the end... oh, hell! That damned one has covered the Princess with his cloak! And not just once! What... what the heck could make him do this if... if he... if he were not... indeed, actually the second time he did it just after he... just when he... oh, holy shit!"

In the heavy silence of T'Pol, who did not breathe a single word, who did not look up from the PADD, who stood with her head bowed down, sitting on his lap, as steady as a salted cod, not even daring to raise her eyebrow, Trip stopped his vain rambling speech.

He sighed heavily. Then, he put his hand under the chin of T'Pol and forced kindly her to look at him.

And her eyes tried to escape his.

He sighed again. "T'Pol. Look at me."

She did. Obviously. But how much reluctantly! And how much troubled appeared those big eyes of her!

For the third time Trip sighed deeply. "This time we are really to the crunch, huh, T'Pol?"

She nodded. Did nothing more.

"The worst pages are the next ones."

Again T'Pol nodded, without speaking. And glanced away. She lowered her eyes on the PADD.

"T'Pol! Do not look away! Look at me, for the devil!"

Abruptly, like if lashed, T'Pol looked up from the PADD. She tried to watch Trip with what should have appeared as a controlled vulcan-like calm. But she failed miserably. How would it have been possible, under the shaken gaze of Trip?

"T'Pol, now... now he… the Nameless One... he... will do… he will do…?" He paused, and then continued, with effort. "That sentence... the one he said ... _'Of her, I'll take care personally'…_ does it mean… does it mean exactly what... what it appears to mean?"

T'Pol attempted to answer, but wasn't capable of doing so.

"T'Pol! Answer me! Is he going to do... _it_?"

With an effort greater than her, T'Pol managed to speak, at the end. She managed to respond to Trip. In a faint voice.

"Yes."

On Trip's face a scowl appeared, hard and gloomy.

"In the way I think he will do?"

And this time T'Pol lacked the strength. She nodded. Laboriously. Wasn't able to do anything more.

Trip's gaze, bleak, sad, disconsolate, was something she could not hold up. In that look there was all the disgust, the horror, that she had felt when she had read - and reread and reread, without being able to stop - the pages that now the two of them were going to read together.

But there was something else, in that look, something far worse, something that lacerated her katra.

That she could not bear.

It was the awareness.

Hers and… and, above all, of her Trip.

The awareness that… that…

When she had dipped herself into reading those pages, she had felt disgust and horror, but she did not know yet, although, in the bottom of her heart, in the recesses of her subconscious, something was moving, was telling her the truth.

But now she knew.

Oh Surak! Now she and her Trip – _especially_ her Trip, the bad-tempered man and headstrong who was her beloved Trip, but the man, too, so deeply good and kind who was her adored Trip - both knew, and, indeed, it had been precisely him who had unearthed a reality she had just glimpsed.

 _Now were both aware that she,_ _ **she T'Pol**_ _, was the Princess and he,_ _ **her Trip**_ _, was... her saviour._

Yeah. Her saviour.

The Nameless One.

 _The... Soulless One._

And both knew now that all that... that monster in human form... no, that Human in form of monster... would have done to the Princess, it would have been as... as if it had been her Trip, the man who... who loved her – her, T'Pol! The present T'Pol! - so... so madly, to do it to her. To his - HIS! - T'Pol.

And, even without saying it exactly like it was, in black and white, as her Trip would say, she had made him well understand what the Nameless One would do to the Princess in the next few pages. The... the hideous thing that her K'diwa foresaw and feared that that human beast would.

And if in some way she could even tolerate the idea that Trip, the Trip of those distant times, had done... had done to his own T'Pol, to the Princess, what ... what he, that Trip, had done to her, certainly this was not something that her own Trip, the Trip who loved her - her, T'Pol of Vulcan - could bear. He wouldn't have been able to tolerate such a thing from any man against any woman, but the thought that he, precisely he, albeit not exactly him, had done this not only to a woman, but even to the woman who, for him, was her, T'Pol...

This thought, for him, for her beloved Trip of today, was devastating!

T'Pol could not withstand. She averted her gaze again from that look of him that seemed blankly into space.

His voice called her back. It was a whisper, soft and warm. And it was firm and sure.

"T'Pol. I am Trip. "

She dared to look at him straight in the face. Peered into his eyes. She saw a wonderful light in them. The light of his love for her.

She saw his smile. The smile of his love for her.

She felt his hand squeeze hers with all the love he had for her.

She heard his voice. Overflowing of his love for her.

The Bond wasn't mistaken.

 _Her katra_ wasn't mistaken.

"T'Pol, do not be afraid. Do not be afraid, my love. I am Trip, just like you yourself have said."

His hand brought her hand to his mouth. His lips kissed softly her fingers.

"May it even be that in the past I may have been in some way the Nameless One. May it be, too, that I may have been the Devil, the King. But, at the end of the day, you're right, my love. As always. **I. Am. Trip**. The man who loves you like no other woman can be loved - and never will be - by any man."

T'Pol felt a lump tighten her throat. She felt her eyes get moist.

"So then, T'Pol, my love, it is sad, it is awful, but, in the end, I wonder, honestly… what importance can it ever have, presently, for me and for you - for the _'me'_ that I'm now and for the _'you'_ that you're now - that the hideous and bad part of the myself who has lived in that distant past, but who wasn't me, has... has done to his own T'Pol something that never I would do - that never I will do - to my T'Pol? No importance, T'Pol, absolutely no importance. Except..." Trip's smile turned into a grimace. "... except the importance due to the sadness, to the grief, that, actually, this happened." Trip's eyes gleamed with rage. "It happened, damn! For real! That other myself without a shadow of soul did it! **He did it!** "

"Trip, please!"

Trip's anger vanished as quickly as it had appeared.

"But it was another Trip. A Trip who is not me. A Trip who is not the Trip who loves you so much, T'Pol. "

And, at that point, T'Pol's tears did not want to know to stay inside and, in addition and frankly, she did not give a damn!

"I love you, T'Pol. Infinitely. This Trip loves you. More than infinitely. And... and that's enough for me to overcome all the sadness, all the grief, that come to me from knowing that that other horrendous myself did to his T'Pol…."

Suddenly Trip gritted his teeth." Stupid idiot bastard!"

But, equally suddenly, he smiled again at T'Pol, softly and, nevertheless, someway also imploringly - with his eyes, with his whole expression - in contrast to the playful tone he spoke with. He had to speak so. He had to, if he wanted not to succumb to the frightening idea that another self of him had done to his own T'Pol...

"And is this enough also for you, little vulcan doll?"

And the tears filled the eyes of T'Pol, profusely. And they decided, also, to flow out from them.

And, in addition, as this wasn't enough, she had also to admit with herself that she couldn't care less!

No. Actually no. This was not true.

In effect, what she had really to admit with herself was that she was happy to feel in her eyes and on her face those tears.

Because she was happy of what they meant.

She threw herself into the warm, cosy recess of her Ashayam's embrace, into his arms that opened for her and hid her face in his chest.

Who knows if in this way, also benefiting from his present state of mind, she succeeded in making in time to prevent him from noticing her tears?

Finally she managed to speak and even managed…

Oh for Surak! Her Trip had to show himself ironic, to dominate situations. Okay. And she had to show herself as T'Pol. The vulcan T'Pol.

And so she managed to express herself in an appropriate way, in the way it was believed it should be her own way.

Mh, maybe yes... well, let's face it... perhaps with a voice a little broken.

But no! No, what the heck! It was only because it was choked by being her mouth buried in his chest!

"For me it's more than enough, Ashayam."

Trip laughed. Heartily. He could not avoid it, neither wanted to do it. "Ah, that's my girl! My T'Pol! My docile and obedient vulcan wifey! Incomparable. And always so self-possessed. So perfectly... vulcan, precisely. "He laughed again."Even when she cries."

He had noticed. Had noticed, damned of an Ashayam!

Damn, _unmatchable_ , Ashayam!

Languidly, she let him maneuver her.

He extricated her from his arms and made her lift her face, then rubbed gently her cheeks with his fingertips, drying them from the tears at the best he could.

He looked at her a little askance, running his tongue in the inside of his cheek, with an expression that wanted to appear worried.

"Mh, after the... exercises that we will make together after reading the story, you'd better proceed also to an extensive activity of meditation, do not you think? Unless..." A sly smile bloomed on his face, as in his gaze. "... unless those exercises are found to be in themselves sufficient to make you regain your usual quiet mastery of yourself. Which is quite likely, it is to believe, judging from our… previous experiences. Only… well, sure. Only, I must have care about… protecting myself adequately. You know, experience teaches."

And he laughed aloud.

And the heart of T'Pol laughed with him.

Then his smile turned sweet and warm as never before.

"Whatever way, sweetheart, if my love for you is enough for me in order to carry on reading without fear and if, in addition and most importantly, for you this is... how was it? Ah, yes... more than enough, in this case, let's go on."

His eyes now were smiling even more than his mouth. But his voice rang serious, this time. And he articulated his words carefully.

"Without any fear"

T'Pol sniffed. By now she had become good at it.

Then she pulled herself together.

She settled herself again comfortably in her position.

And then, finally, together with her Adun, she resumed to read aloud.

Without any fear.

* * *

The Princess opened her eyes.

She blinked.

Once. Twice. Three times.

She awoke.

She strived to focus her mind. To understand. To remember.

And she remembered.

Laboriously, she remembered.

With pain.

Atana. The attackers.

Her fight.

Her _desperate_ fight.

The blood. Her defeat.

The horrible end that she was going to suffer.

Her rescue.

The... the Nameless One!

His monstrous and mocking face leapt out vivid at her mind.

His words. His story. His atrocious story. And...

And Atana!

Atana, who was being hurled away. Distant. By the monstrous hand of that monster in human form!

Atana, who lay to the ground as dead!

Her anger. Her blind rage.

And then... her sword. That went to pieces. Shattered in one hundred splinters. Clashing against the monstrous arm of that monster.

And the monstrous hand of that monstrous arm that crushed the hilt of her crumbled sword.

And then, nothingness.

And then...

Where was she now?

Where...

The Princess's eyes grew more vivid, clawed back with fatigue a less vacuous view. She made them turn all around, seeking to explore the environment without moving her aching head.

There was semidarkness. The dim light came from…

Braziers. The Princess managed to see a couple of braziers that enlightened faintly the ambient and the walls.

Walls of cloth. Thick and heavy canvass and dark in colour. Like the ceiling, high and indistinct, above her, but unmistakably of thick cloth, like the walls.

A tent.

She was in a tent. A large tent.

And she was...

She realized it.

She lay on a bed.

Soft. Big.

Under a soft, warm blanket.

And, apparently, she was alone in the tent.

Stiff and numb, with the body insensitive, the Princess, painstakingly, strived to pull herself up. She managed to put herself sitting on the bed.

The blanket slipped down and she realized she was naked.

She gathered up the blanket and pulled it up to cover herself.

Her gaze wandered around.

It explored.

A tent. Yes. It was just a tent. A large camp tent. A pavillon.

Still wrapping herself in the blanket, she slowly pulled down laboriously her legs from the bed.

She laid her feet on the ground.

Cautiously, she stood up. She staggered a little and felt her head spin, but she succeeded.

She waited until her head stopped spinning and then tried to take a few uncertain steps.

Something stopped her, something that pulled her. A tug, that did hurt her neck and held her back.

Her neck…

Something held her by her neck.

 _What…?_

Abruptly, the Princess became aware of something that... something that she felt at her neck, something that she, in the numbness of her mind when she had woken up, in the stiffness and insensibility of her body, had not noticed.

Something hard.

Something...

While supporting the blanket around herself with one hand, the Princess brought the other to her neck.

The hand, her fingers, found the hard and cold thing she now had become conscious she felt at her neck. All around it.

A… a collar!

Metallic.

Thin, but sturdy. Very sturdy.

Her hand, her fingers, explored the collar that her eyes could not see. Feverishly. And they found what they sought. What they feared to find.

There was a thing attached to the collar, a thing that seemed a… a small ring. And from the ring...

Her hand fingered what originated from the ring.

Her hand understood.

Her hand ran along that thing, for a short stretch; carried it close to her eyes.

Her eyes saw.

 _A chain._

Coming from the collar around her neck. Neither thick nor heavy, but highly robust, like the collar to which it was attached.

And ending...

The eyes of the Princess followed the chain.

In the weak and flickering light of the braziers, they saw that the chain was direct upward, as if it were hanging on to something, and, possibly, just because of that she, in the confusion of her laborious and difficult awakening, with the body and the mind still unable to clearly perceive the external stimuli, had not noticed its existence; for the fact that the way with which the chain was arranged had prevented her from feeling its weight, very slight, moreover, like that of the collar.

Her eyes went on to follow the chain, as she strained to see in the scarce light, and they found what it was hanging to.

The chain terminated in a big ring looking like made of burnished iron just like the chain, barely visible in the dimness, as the chain itself on the other hand, and stuck on the upper part of a big and high pole, one of the poles that sustained the tent, driven into the ground one step away from the bed where she had woken up.

It was a chain long enough and, fastened to the iron ring placed on high as it was, arranged in such a way to permit her to stand upright and do a few steps.

But no more than that.

It allowed her to be relatively free.

And made it absolutely clear to her, with no possibility of error, that, actually, she was not at all free.

She now was a captive.

 _Of that monster!_

* * *

T'Pol's eyes darted to the eyes of Trip. They scrutinized rapidly them.

They were hard and gloomy.

T'Pol didn't do nor say anything.

Hurriedly, she restarted to read.

* * *

A noise behind her.

The Princess turned abruptly. She felt her head spin violently. Her sight darkened. She felt herself falling.

A hand grabbed her by the arm and sustained her.

She knew that hand.

As the voice that she heard.

Just as rough and mocking as strong and mighty it was the hand.

"Calmly, Your Royal Highness, slowly. With good graces, as one expects from the Princess that you are."

The Princess opened her eyes.

And she saw it.

She saw that face.

That face of beast and of man.

Albeit in the fog of her brain and in the gloom, she saw it perfectly.

And she saw that beautiful blue eye.

And that leonine mouth that sneered.

The monstrous head bent toward her and she felt being pulled up. Two huge arms and powerful, two arms that now she knew, two arms that she knew being made one of flesh and the other of metal, heaved her effortlessly, and deposited her on the bed, gracefully.

She stood lying so, on the bed, eyes closed again, trying to recover; supine and naked, being the blanket fallen to the ground; completely exposed to the sight of...

All a sudden, she realized.

With effort, she opened her eyes again and she saw him.

He was there, standing upright; with folded arms; huge; darker than dark, but with his face clearly visible now, albeit in the dim light of the tent, because it was no longer hidden under the large brim of his great black hat.

His head was uncovered, now, and the Princess could see well the mass of blond hair that surmounted it, falling back on his powerful shoulders, like a... like a leonine mane.

And she could see well that mouth of beast which smiled mockingly and that eye, that single blue eye, which was staring at her.

At her exhibited body.

A deep shame and, together, an infinite sadness, an overwhelming despondency, assailed the Princess, even stronger than the weakness she felt.

That was... that was the sign.

The first sign, tangible, of what would be her life.

An even more concrete sign than the collar and the chain.

She had no defences against that Being, as well as her body now had no veils before his gaze.

She was much more than merely his captive.

She was... _his_.

Simply this.

 **His!**

The Princess suddenly realized this with keen perspicuity. With _painful_ perspicuity.

He, that monster, was master of doing with her and of her all he wanted to.

As staying watching now, in that way, her… completely nude.

The… the first act of what she knew would happen to her.

This would be the end of the Princess Alel. This the fate of the Princess of all Elves!

A flesh toy to be enjoyed with the eyes - his eye! - and then with...

 _With…_

"Ah, very well. I see that your wounds will not leave marks on you. This is satisfactory."

Damned voice! Damned its blatant scoffing!

"It would have been really a shame that such a beautiful body would remain marred."

 _Damned voice!_

"The drugs that I made administer to you, and that made sure that you could sleep deeply, together with the refreshing bath that I ordered you had while you stood blissful in dreamland, have yielded their effect."

 _ **Damned voice!**_

"The result is promising. Not difficult to believe, Your Grace, that we both will draw much benefit. You ..." The blue eye sparkled. "... and me."

The Princess saw and felt clearly that eye linger with satisfaction on his naked body.

Shame overwhelmed her. The pride of being the one she was could no longer be enough to her. She was captive, enchained, weak, defenceless and... naked. And vulnerable, in body and in spirit. She crossed her thighs and brought her arms up to cover her breasts, vainly trying to conceal her nakedness to that impudent eye.

And the voice rose one more time, derisive and sneering.

"Ah, for the shadows of the world beyond the grave! You are right, my pretty princess. It is really regrettable for you to be exposed in such an unworthy way to the unworthy sight of this unworthy, crude and monstrous Human! What a bumpkin I am! Once again I acted like a boor completely devoid of good manners and of urbanity. Please excuse me, Your Highness, one more time. Clearly something of the coarseness of those dear Humans who first took care of me has remained deplorably attacked to me. But I remedy immediately."

The Princess saw the man bend down and then get up, holding the blanket in his hand.

He approached her and, without speaking, with an emphatic way of doing, laid the blanket over her and covered her with it, perfectly, from neck to toe, concealing her nudity.

"There. That's better, is not it, Princess?"

And... how strange... it did not seem to the Princess that his tone was mocking or ironic, this time.

* * *

"Why do not you stop now, fucking beast? Why will not you understand what you feel for her?"

T'Pol looked up from the PADD. Her beautiful eyes watched Trip with a mixture of sadness and participation.

"Trip, this... this is not something that the Nameless One can understand now. It takes time for these things. Just think..." Her voice trembled a little. "... just think of all the time that it took to me to convince myself of what I felt for you."

Trip smiled broadly. Gratefully.

"Ah, this is great! Nothing to say, incomparable, my girl!" The smile turned a little sad. "But you have not made me suffer as that... that beast will make suffer the Princess. You..."

"Adun!"

"Trip was taken aback by the vehement tone of T'Pol.

"Wh... what...?"

"Maybe I have not made you suffer in body, but I made you suffer immensely in the soul!"

Trip stood for a moment in silence, watching thoughtfully T'Pol. Then he spoke gravely.

"You made me suffer, T'Pol? And me? What did I do with you? Didn't I do the same thing, by chance?"

T'Pol's eyes widened.

"You would have done the same thing with me?"

"Yes T'Pol. I exacted to uproot you from your world and from your culture, without caring about your feelings and your emotions, I mean your _vulcan_ feelings and emotions, those that are yours, of your species, or, if you dislike that I talk about your feelings and emotions so cheekily, we can speak of inclinations, of ways of being, the hell you want. And I did this simply because I had understood that I loved you and that you too were in love with me. Okay, this was true, this _is_ true. But you loved me - you love me - in your own way, my love, in your _vulcan_ way. And I foolishly refused to take account of this. I followed my own way of being, my _human_ \- and not vulcan - way of being, without thinking, without realizing, that you were and are different from me. It is a topic that we have already discussed, do you remember?" **(*)**

In the minds of T'Pol, powerful and vivid, the memory appeared, the wonderful memory, of that wonderful shore leave, of that wonderful night when she had found the strength and the nerve to reveal to her K'diwa the immense attraction that he had exerted over her since their first encounter, an encounter that had taken place well before her refusal to shake his hand and of which he knew nothing at that time.

Wonderful night! Wonderful talking to each other! Mutual confessions. Understanding one another. And loving one another. Unreservedly. With no anxieties. Free, at last, from all the fools burdens of their different cultures, their misunderstandings, their empty prejudices.

Their shore leave. The shore leave of her unspoken, yet blatant, public admission of love.

And the shore leave in which _it_ had taken place. _Her stupendous swimming lesson!_ **(**)**

T'Pol struggled to return to the present. It took a considerable effort. It was so wondrous all that had born from that shore leave they had spent together.

She succeeded, however, and even managed to speak, albeit with a voice manifestly choked with emotion, an emotion, though, of which she didn't feel at all ashamed or felt she should repress. An emotion… righteous, that deserved to be expressed in all its power.

"I remember it well, Adun, very well. And it's a wonderful memory. But it is not true that you have forced me to change. If I've changed, it is for what I feel for you. Just like you too have changed by virtue of what you feel for me. And certainly it can not be said of you that you have not accepted me for who I am. I know, and it is for me a source... a source of happiness and pride, that you…" - She had to say it. Absolutely! – "…that you love me for what I am, for the woman that I am, exactly... exactly as it... as it's for me towards you. You're my man, my T'hai'la, and you're this exactly in the way you're."

T'Pol took a deep breath before continuing, as Trip was listening to her with the most intent and focused of expressions.

"You have not at all purported to eradicate me from my culture and my world, T'hai'la, indeed, if you remember well, just in that shore leave we decided that, the moment... the moment we had the good fortune to have children, we would live on Vulcan, so, if anything, it is me the one who should be accused of wanting to eradicate you from your world and your culture."

"T'Pol…"

T'Pol gently put a hand over Trip's mouth. "Let me talk, Adun, do not protest. Let me finish."

Trip fell silent, and T'Pol resumed speaking. And she did it with force. Vehemently, almost.

"What you have done, my Ashal-veh, has simply been to pursue me, knowing that, at the bottom of myself, deep down in my heart, I wanted to be pursued by you, despite my reluctance and my recalcitrance, my constant swaying between wanting and not wanting, my stubborn unwillingness to make talk my heart, to follow it. And in the end you won the match, as you would say. You won, thanks to Surak or to your God or whoever you want. Or, quite simply, thanks to yourself. You've forced me to admit with you and with myself that I wanted to be yours. With that kiss, do you remember? With the kiss that you have wrung from me in plein-air, in the corridor. With that kiss with which you have forced me to ask you, in deeds, to stay with me. To be my Adun."

Trip was silent for some moments, overwhelmed by the vehemence of T'Pol, by the emotion, for nothing repressed but rather deliberately exhibited, almost flaunted, overflowing from her words, by the feeling of love and gratitude that filled her talking, that vibrated powerfully in the Bond.

Then a thought flashed in his head in tumult. A thought… an idea… arising from what she had said. From _some_ of the words she had said.

He looked at T'Pol with a weird air, patently as if trying to say something and T'Pol watched him in turn, baffled and with a questioning gaze in her eyes.

He clenched his lips, seeking for the right words, as his tongue was dancing inside his cheek.

He wanted her to understand, and it was not at all easy to make it clear to her what he meant to express; the strange idea, the odd intuition that had unexpectedly crossed his mind and that drew strength from and gave strength to the uncanny tie connecting T'Pol and him to the Princess and to the Nameless One.

"It's all true, T'Pol. Everything. Including the fact that I've forced you. They are your own words."

T'Pol looked puzzled at Trip. "What do you mean, T'hai'la?"

"That I have been violent with you."

T'Pol stood speechless. Then she gasped. "You? Violent? With me?"

"There are many kinds of violence, T'Pol. There is the one of the Nameless One towards the Princess. And there's mine towards you."

"But what are you saying?"

Trip did not react at the outburst of T'Pol. He instead took a strange pensive air.

"You know, T'Pol, at the end of the facts, if that act by the Nameless One, namely his indulging in protecting the Princess with his cloak and even more his concealing her nakedness, without being either mocking or ironic, without pretending... if all this means something... well, I do not think he can treat her so ignobly. Mh no, I mean..."

T'Pol did not let him finish. She burst out vehemently. "But he will do it!"

Once again Trip did not react at T'Pol's snap. Instead he watched her with eyes even more thoughtful than before.

T'Pol was caught off guard by that expression of Trip. She looked at him quizzically.

"Adun?"

"Tell me, T'Pol, what you have adumbrated is true, isn't it? I mean, the Nameless One... he will take her, the Princess, and he will do it in the way you made me understand that he will. Right?"

"Oh, he... "

"He will do it, T'Pol? I mean... I mean exactly what I mean. He will take her... by force? _With violence?_ "

"He... he… "

"Answer me, T'Pol. He will do it? "

"Yes! He will do it! "

"Yeah, sure. There was no hope it was not so. In effect, substantially you had already said this. There was no need for me to ask you to say it again, so openly, so clearly. And how could it have been differently? Violence and cruelty have marked the whole life of the Nameless One; violence and cruelty will mark also his love. It cannot be otherwise. But..." The strange, thoughtful, expression of Trip deepened as he looked down, as if to reflect. "...however, to want to see well..."

Trip's eyes rose to meet those of T'Pol, still with that strange look in them, but mixed, this time, with something else... something...

T'Pol saw it clearly. It was determination. And cognizance. Her T'hai'la had grasped something. With the uncanny intuitiveness that was only his own.

"Come on, T'Pol. Let's read. Let's read together these pages of violence. I think I'm ready now. "The weird expression in his eyes deepened further and he nodded. To her. But also to himself. "Yes, let's move on reading together in the next few pages what has escaped you, T'Pol."

"What has escaped me?"

"Yes."

"Nothing has escaped me, Trip! Unfortunately nothing! Absolutely nothing! I know exactly what the Nameless One... "

"Are you really sure, babe? Oh nothing to say, you're pretty darn smart and sagacious, but, you know, together we are worth much more than the sum of the two of us. Together we are..."

"A hell of a team! Okay. Okay. It's true. But that does not change things. I did not let slip anything to me, unfortunately. The Nameless One will force the Princess to..."

"To do what, T'Pol? Maybe... to give him what she would never have agreed to give him if not forced by him by force and violence, while wanting to give it to him, even without knowing it? And from the beginning." Trip forcefully repeated those words. " _From the beginning._ "

"Wha... what…?"

"T'Pol, do you remember how the Princess promptly gave her hand to her… to her saviour when he wanted to help her to her feet? Do you remember how, without thinking, she has relied on his hand? As if... as if something had sprung suddenly, inside her, something she did not understand, something she was able not even to notice, but that burst out at the exact moment when she found herself in his presence. Like…" Trip stared purposely at T'Pol. "… like the something that snapped inside you, when, unbeknown to me, you met me at the airport in San Francisco, before our official meeting in the Captain's quarters. That something that you've wanted to deny. _That you've wanted to deny, T'Pol!_ But that there was, existed!" **(*)**

Trip took a very short pause, for then starting to speak again with emphasis.

"And like the something that snapped inside me, in those same quarters, when I've proffered you the hand that you didn't want to take, because, as you yourself told me, if you had, you would have been overwhelmed by the attraction that you felt for me, the exact counterpart of the powerful, overwhelming attraction that I felt immediately for you, without being capable even simply of recognizing that I felt it. But go figure! I! Attracted to you! To you! To a vulcan female! With pointed ears. Like those of an Elf. Or maybe it would be more right to say... like those of a Princess of the Elves." **(*)**

T'Pol remained silent to listen to Trip, her heart in turmoil.

"How many analogies, T'Pol. How many similarities, albeit in their ostensible differences, between ours and their encounter, that between the Nameless One and the Princess. And afterwards, too, after their first encounter. Yes, a heap of similarities and, most notably, the similarity between... "

Trip took a breath. He needed to speak with lucidity.

"Okay, he, the Nameless One will take the Princess and will take her by force, by violence. And it will be terrible. And so be it, damn! But... tell me, sweetie, satisfy my curiosity, please. Will she fight to resist him? "

"What?"

"Will she fight, T'Pol?"

"But... but, she... Trip! The Nameless One will do..."

"Let it go what he will do. Just tell me if she will fight, if she will try to resist."

T'Pol's eyes widened.

She began to understand.

She… understood.

The sudden cognizance and the surprise for what she had not noticed in her reading and that her Adun's intuitiveness made now jump out well clear, did lit her mind.

Damn his incredible intuitiveness, incredible to such an extent that, despite the fact that she loved it and was proud of it, it was even irritating, sometimes, at least to her vulcan schematic frame of mind. Possible that logic was constantly unable to match his ability to grasp things by means of the bizarre paths of his mind? And yet, it was so. And, in this instance, she had not noticed, had let it slip to her, but in effect... in effect...

Relentless, Trip's voice gave no quarter to her.

"She will put up no resistance, eh, T'Pol? And yet, okay, now she is weak and tried, but it is still true that she has been capable of making mincemeat of a nice amount of men, rather accustomed to fight, in addition. And not even passes for the antechamber of her brain the idea of rebelling? Of dying rather than yielding? As it would sound right for the Princess she is? Is that possible? Alright, he, the one who, somehow or other, can really be defined as her saviour, the Nameless One, her… captor… can also be big and tall and extraordinarily strong, but possible she won't even try to… to scratch him? At least this? Or she will do it? Will she pull out her nails, in some way?"

"N... no. She will not. She will yield to his... to his blackmail. "

"Ah, this is interesting. So, it won't be exactly violence, in the most usual sense of the term. Physical, I mean. He will blackmail her. "

"Y... yes."

"And she will yield to his blackmail."

"Yes."

"Without a single shot being fired on her part."

"Yes. Yes! _Yes!_ "

"He will take her by force and violence, but not by physical force and violence. She will yield to his blackmail. "

" **YES!** "

"T'Pol." Never look was more serious than that of Trip. "You too have yielded to my blackmail."

"I have…?"

"Yes, T'Pol. You did it. You have yielded to my blackmail. To my violence, T'Pol. To my non-physical violence. Without a shot being fired on your part. And happy to do it. And it is not empty bragging on my part."

T'Pol stood stunned for a moment, dizzy. Then her mind grasped what Trip wanted to say. And she realized. She realized he was absolutely right. It was true. He had… he had blackmailed her. He... he had done violence to her. A non-physical violence. Such as that of Nameless One. And she had yielded to his blackmail. To his violence. Without rebelling. Without a shot being fired on her part. Because she wanted to yield! Exactly... exactly as the Princess! "

Trip's solemn voice gave body her thoughts.

"If, when I returned to _Enterprise_ after I had left it because I could not bear the thought to have your heart while you weren't willing to admit with me and with yourself it was mine... if at that moment I had not literally forced you, _coerced_ you, all things considered fraudulently, such as it seems to me to understand that the Nameless One will do with the Princess, although actually you wished to do it... would you have disclosed yourself, T'Pol? Would you have admitted, finally and once and for all, your love for me, kissing me shamelessly in the corridor, with the risk of being seen by all, just in order... well, yes... just in order not to lose me again and this time forever? Tell me, T'Pol, would you have acknowledged, at last and definitely, that you wanted me, if I had not... blackmailed you?"

"I... "

"No, T'Pol. You would not have done it. I would love immensely to say you would have done it, but you would not have done it. Or maybe, who knows, one day or another you would have decided to do so, but I'm not at all sure. And then, when? At that moment our lives could join, finally, or be parted, definitely and forever. And I've understood this. And so... I forced you to do it. _I coerced you to do it_. And hasn't this been a violence on my part against you? A violence you have been compelled to endure and of which you have been happy? "

T'Pol looked wide eyed at her immeasurable T'hai'la. But where... where the hell had she found him? If he had not existed, she would absolutely have to find a way to invent him. But, thanks to Surak, he existed!

"And how did I do this, T'Pol? Well, let's admit. With a blackmail. Small, if you want, and justified, in a way, because the moment was favourable, because it was really the last chance, because you persisted to make the oyster and because I understood that you didn't know how to get out of your shell. But, anyway, it was a blackmail. So, before I forced you to say that you wanted me back and then I forced you to admit that you wanted me back because…oh ultimately!... _because you wanted me_. And in order to force you to admit it, I said to you that I would think about it. In this way I aroused in you the fear that I could want to leave you again, maybe for returning never again. So, I have forced you to break your shell. Basically, I have blackmailed you, T'Pol. I have told you, substantially: _see to do something, because, if you don't, I will go away and we two won't see each other ever again_. And you've yielded to my blackmail, T'Pol. And as if that were not enough, later I have also satisfied the whim to let you know that I had already decided to go back. I had fun in teasing you. Worthy of the Nameless One, in a sense, if you ponder about that."

T'Pol did not say a word. With furrowed forehead, she could only keep watching Trip with the brain in an uproar, as he continued to talk.

"Yes, in a way, I have blackmailed you, as you say that the Nameless One will do with the Princess. And, still in a sense, I've been violent with you. As he will do with her, with his T'Pol."

At that point, T'Pol did not hold back. "Alright. May it be even so. But your blackmail was very different, T'hai'la! Quite different was your violence!"

Trip nodded. "Sure, because quite different I am from the Nameless One, T'Pol, fortunately, despite me being him. But, anyway, I used some sort of violence against you. And, like him, I did it to get from you, just as him from his own T'Pol, what you wanted to give me, without making up your mind to give it to me. However, substantially I've been violent. With the violence that is my own. Of the world and the age we live in. Eh sure, because, think about this, T'Pol, where has their encounter happened? Where has their story unfolded? I mean, in what world, at what era, have they taken place? A world, an era where violence - but, pay attention, _the fiercest violence_ \- was part of the scenario, was intrinsic to life, like… yeah…like the behaviour itself of the Princess, her warlike ferocity, prove without a shadow of doubt."

The PADD lay motionless in T'Pol's hand, while she assimilated Trip's words, words that he was now uttering with the fluency and the expressive power that she knew that he was able to show when it was necessary and that, in truth, was also due to her influence on him. Oh, yes, he too had changed! And how! He had learned a lot from her, just as she had learned a lot from him.

"Things change, T'Pol. The world changes. And the world where the Princess and her saviour, those other us two, lived in, it was not the world of today, the one where we two live in. It was a fierce world, where violence was far more ferocious than the violence of the world of today. Or, perhaps, it should be better to say that it was more primal, more primitive, less disguised under the name of intents that want to appear high and high are not for anything. In reality, the violence of the world of today is not less than that, simply, it is different and, in some ways, I repeat, I was violent with you. I had to be so, so as to force you to give me what you wanted to give me and that you persisted obstinately not to give me. Namely you. The other myself who has lived at that time did the same thing with the Princess, in the way and with the violence of the world of that time, although things were definitely vaguer between them than between us two. But the spark had erupted, between him and the Princess, exactly as it happened to us. And the Nameless One acted in the only way he knew. Without waiting, as I did with you. With the violence of the world of that time, with his own violence, perceiving, however, somehow, that he would not meet resistance."

Trip looked fixedly at T'Pol. He chuckled, halfway between ironically and teasingly. "Tell me, honey. Am I wrong?"

T'Pol once again did not reply. She continued to watch her Adun like he was... like he was Surak in person!

He chuckled again, his eyes bright and mischievous.

"Mh, no. Your look tells me that I'm not mistaken, sweetness of my heart. So, wanting to sum up all my long harangue, I think you will agree with me in saying that our beloved princess has seen herself be forced to give herself to the Nameless One, to her saviour, that she had to submit to his violence, but all in all... not too begrudgingly. Who knows whether, if she had been in your place in that corridor, she would not have looked up to the sky, as from the corner of my eye I saw that you did when I acted as if I were about to go away, because, at that point, you've understood to have no way out, that or you would have done something - something _clamorous_ \- so as to hold me back or you would have lost me. And so you _did_ something clamorous. Yielding to my blackmail, you grabbed me and gave me the most passionate and possessive of kisses, unmindful that someone might see. Because you wanted to give you to me, as your vulcan imperative of love pushed you to do, even if you persisted in not admitting it and - dammit! - in not doing it. But, at that point, you had no choice anymore."

Trip took a breath for a moment. He felt his throat dry, by dint of talking. Wow! That damn fable had to have something witchlike, among various other things it kept hidden inside itself. He had never been so talkative nor... but yes ... nor so skilled in speech!

And he had not finished yet!

"So then, T'Pol, let me tell you once again and with force, is it not that, by chance, as for you with me, the Princess wanted to give herself to her saviour, while hiding to herself that she wanted to do it? But eager to do it? Indeed, more exactly - and this is the real difference between her and you - without even knowing to be wishful to do it? And, in the end, yielding, willingly, to his violence? Which, all things considered, is - things being changed that have to be changed - my same violence, in some way. Eh sure. Because if we change the times and the world of today with those in which our ancient counterparts lived in, we could say that the Nameless One has used on the Princess the same violence that I used on you, only that he has used the only violence he could know. His violence. The violence of his world. Of the world, let us remember, T'Pol, which had made him cruel and violent. Am I wrong, T'Pol? Or do you think that once again I'm right? "

"I..."

"And if then..." Trip grinned. "...if then we add that at the root of the Nameless One, as at my own root, there is that funny guy of the King, of the devil himself... well, everything gets very clear. At the bottom, to well think about it, something of the devil has had to act in me, when, with my personal violence, I managed to make you do, almost against your will, what your will actually wanted you to do and that you persisted in not doing."

For a few moments T'Pol continued to look at Trip - it must be said - in awe, as he, finally, kept quiet, staying to watch her with a sly look and satisfied.

Then she snapped. "You... you are really the devil, Trip!"

Trip laughed loudly and cheerfully. "I know. It seems to be just like that. And, for once, I am not at all displeased of that, o my coerced-to-be vulcan wife."

T'Pol's eyebrow went up, together with the corners of her lips in an unmistakable hint of conniving smile. "In all honesty, me neither, o my violent Husband and Lord."

Trip laughed again cheerfully and raised his hand to ruffle the hair of his coerced-to-be wife, who - just to mean how much she deplored to be his compelled spouse and to have been forced by him to yield to his ignominious violence by means, in addition, of a cowardly and surreptitious blackmail - not in any way escaped his gesture of affection, but indeed closed her eyes to better savour its warmth.

The voice of her violent and fraudulent husband-in-facts called her back to the world.

It was a voice - she no longer had any difficulty understanding the many nuances that it was capable of showing - still cheerful, merrily teasing and playful. But there was in it a vein of grief. Of sadness. Of uncertainty, especially.

"Okay. Enough now. We have exorcised to the maximum limit this blessed fable. Now we are really ready to read together the worst pages. _I_..." - The uncertainty in Trip's voice became palpable - "... _I_ am ready. I have already said it to you."

T'Pol opened her eyes and, while laying the hand holding the PADD on her lap, she looked with a serious and concerned gaze at her Trip, whose hand was still playing with her hair, as by its own will.

"Trip." Her voice was serious. Grave. Doleful. "The Nameless One is still very far from understanding. For him, the Princess is... is just a beautiful princess, indeed _the_ Princess of the Elves. The hated, the loathed Elves. A wonderful, helpless… naked… Elven Princess. At his complete mercy."

Trip nodded, with dark eyes.

Then, after a beat, he said a thing.

An obvious thing. And yet...

T'Pol's heart leaped in her chest.

But how many were the things that her Adun was able to sense?

Trip's words resounded mighty in her mind.

"Poor, wretched Princess. How much fear must indwell in her heart!"

T'Pol said nothing. She watched Trip with wide eyes and amazed.

Trip, in turn, looked at her knitting his eyebrows.

What had he said? Why that look from her?

"T'Pol, what ...?"

T'Pol raised the hand not holding the PADD to silence him and, right after, her eyes ran to the PAD, lifted again to allow them to read.

They found the point where she and Trip had interrupted the reading and, without waiting for Trip to resume reading together with her, T'Pol read aloud.

* * *

The Princess's eyes went up uncertain to watch the Human with the face of a beast.

He was standing. Stiff and firm.

He was looking at her, lying weak and helpless on the bed.

That hideous face of a beast was staring at her.

That vivid, _wonderful_ , blue eye was observing her.

The Princess knew what would happen.

She knew what fate had in store for her.

What the Nameless One, in a few moments, would do to her.

* * *

T'Pol made a brief pause before reading loud and clear the next sentence.

* * *

 _Why didn't she feel afraid?_

* * *

 _ **End of Chapter Sixteen**_

 _ **TBC**_

 **ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo**

 _Yeah. Why doesn't the Princess feel afraid to meet her fate?_

 _Do you think that Trip's ravings are sufficient to explain it?_

 _Yes sure. In part, though, because, let us remember, the Nameless One is rather violent. Violent of the violence of his world._

 _Or...?_

 _And his blackmail?_

 _What the hell is his blackmail?_

 _Overall, a nice muddle this story, is not it?_

 _Do you think it is worthwhile to know how it will continue?_

 **ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo**

 **ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo**

 **(*)** _And here, my friends, it's necessary to be patient. In order to know to what it is alluded, one should have cognizance of another of my stories, "Shore leave"._

 **(**)** _And, to complete the measure, there's a hint at the sequel of "Shore Leave": "Bikini. The Swimming Lesson"._

 _And, please remember, there's always "In the Hall of the Mountain King"._

 _The King, the Devil, you know._


	17. The Ears of the Elves - Chapter 17

**The Ears of the Elves**

 **By Asso**

 **Chapter Seventeen**

* * *

 _I apologize in advance, my friends, if this chapter will seem to you too short._

 _It is true. I admit. So it is._

 _But words failed me. Or, perhaps, heart._

 _I had to stop a little yet._

* * *

 **The Ears of the Elves**

 **Chapter Seventeen**

 **oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo**

Trip was silent for a moment while T'Pol stood watching him intently, then he nodded his head.

"Let's continue, T'Pol."

She did not answer. Was silent, she too, for an instant, her eyes fixed on those of Trip. Then she nodded in turn.

And the reading began again.

* * *

The Princess pulled herself up with effort, forcing on her elbows.

The blanket fell down a little.

She did not take the trouble to pull it up.

The blanket stopped just above her breasts.

* * *

"Ha, that's remarkable. See, honey? I... well... I'm sorry but I really think you've not paid sufficient attention to this."

T'Pol looked at Trip with badly concealed irritation. Difficult for her to admit that she had let herself escape something so important.

"That is to say?"

Trip chuckled softly. "Why haven't the Princess's hands rushed to hold up the blanket, T'Pol? Interesting question. In some way, even more significant than that other one. I mean, the one about why she didn't feel afraid. Meaningful, undeniably. Do not you think, sweetheart?"

It was true. Trip's observation was spot on and T'Pol could only acknowledge it. This, however, did not mean she could avoid feeling peeved. Indeed, if possible, facing Trip's roguish expression, she was even more. Very little proper to a vulcan female, but what other vulcan female had ever had to deal with a rascal like her Adun? Without insisting too much on… how closely she had to deal with him.

"Husband ..."

But Trip impeded her from making resound her trumpets. He suddenly widened his eyes.

"Oh, but what a fool! I forgot." He slapped his palm on his forehead. "The Princess's predicament, of course. Sure. Rather difficult, that's true. Undeniable, this. Imagine if, in a predicament like that, she could have the presence of mind to prevent the blanket from slipping down! And then, even wanting to let aside the state of mind she was in - not too much clear-headed, it is to be believed - at that moment she was laboriously supporting herself on her elbows, so... well, certainly... really, the thought to move her hands, to make them rush just to prevent the blanket from falling down... eh, this could be nothing but the last of her thoughts."

Trip nodded with conviction.

"Such a situation explains everything, babe. Indeed..." He winked slyly at T'Pol. "… eh, indeed it might even justify... yes... it might even justify, in case the blanket had decided not to stop just above her breast, the fact that... who knows?... that, maybe, the Princess would not have worried then too much to avoid it from sliding even further down."

On Trips' mouth an impish grin peeped out. "Of course, it still remains to be explained why, before, he had felt so much ashamed to find herself to be exposed naked as her mom had made her at the sight of her saviour, whereas now… well, she does not appear to be bothered about that. What has changed? Little or nothing, apparently... yet..."

The grin grew more impish than it already was. "Mah. Mysteries of the female soul."

And impish even more. "Whether it be human females or vulcan or, well, even elven, it seems, and regardless of the circumstances, one would be led to say. Don't you think, love of my love?"

Trip said no more. Simply, he stood watching T'Pol, mouth-closed and with sprightly eyes. And with the lips cheekily stretched in the most amiable of smiles.

T'Pol did not reply. She even avoided lifting the eyebrow. Best to keep a low profile, to put it in the manner of her ineffable soul mate.

A little stiff, she went back to reading.

* * *

Confused and uncertain, unable even to realize what was happening to her, the Princess spoke in a weak voice, but clear, without using futile periphrasis, with her large, bright, green eyes wide open, magnificent, on her… _master_.

Because that was what the Nameless One was now for her.

 _Her master._

And that was tremendous.

Was chilling.

But... it was so. Why denying it? She had to... she had to take note. Yes. She had to.

It would be childish not to do it.

Childish. Silly. Useless. Even... even dangerous.

Yes. Sure.

She was tried. Tired. Exhausted. And powerless. Unarmed.

Enchained.

And she felt weak.

Terribly.

And he, the Human, the one who was now… her master…

He was strong. Immensely strong. _Frighteningly_ strong.

And... and it was for this reason that the idea to rebel, _to fight_ , did not touch her mind; not even slightly.

Exactly and… only for this reason.

* * *

T'Pol deliberately ignored the foxy smile Trip gratified her with.

* * *

Sure.

It was for this.

For nothing but for this.

It was the inevitable acknowledgment of her new condition and of the futility of opposing it.

This was what the Princess felt within herself.

This the reason of her inner turmoil.

This and… nothing else.

* * *

Managing to ignore the more and more mischievous smile of Trip became more and more difficult, but T'Pol succeeded in doing so. By now she had a long experience on this matter.

* * *

And, perfectly aware of all this, perfectly aware of her status as a captive - of... _of a slave_ \- the Princess addressed the Human with the appellation with which, she knew, from now on she would have to turn to him.

She wanted to make him fully aware that she was fully aware, wanted to make it so that he could perceive very well the fortitude with which she acknowledged her new status.

It was everything that could remain of her pride.

And she wanted to show it at full, for the little it was worth.

And, to give more strength to her words, she pulled herself up a little more on her elbows.

And the blanket slid down a little more.

And she did not bother in the least to keep it on.

* * *

At this point T'Pol could not take it anymore.

"My Husband and Lord, if I may, could you be magnanimous enough to avoid smiling that way at your humble and respectful wife?"

"Oh damn! But sure! Of course!" Trip's lips regained a normal position and his face became the image of earnestness, but the mischievous light in his eyes didn't go out. "How to ignore the desire of my humble and respectful wife?"

T'Pol sighed. Well, that was her life now. Complicated, to say the least. But... oh, well... it would take really the blind courage of the blindest stupidity for saying that hers could be an unpleasant life. With her Husband and Lord. With her Trip. No. Not at all. With him, life was nice. No, incorrect. It was well beyond than that. It was a life imbued with happiness. Oh yes. With him she had learned what it was happiness. And there was nothing in him that could now push her to give up the happiness he was capable of giving her. She had already been stupid enough in the past, making suffer both him and herself and denying to them both such happiness. Thinking to behave again so just because annoyed that he liked to catch her out, it would be more than illogical. It would be... self-injurious.

Of course, there was a price to pay, that of being teased by him, but, well, all in all, this was a reasonable price, without counting that… oh well, she could always repay him in the same coin. Actually, she had become rather good at this.

And even this was happiness.

Yeah. Because the fact was not only that she liked him so, in the way he was. The fact was that… she liked the verbal duels with him.

It was part of their happiness.

It was the icing on the cake, as he would say. After all, so, this way, their romance had begun. And so, it would continue.

Forever.

Yes.

 _Forever._

Both, of course. Their romance together with their bickerings.

T'Pol looked down at the PADD, preventing Trip from being able to notice the naughty glint that she perceived that was going to light up in her eyes.

She went on reading without lingering in futile replies.

Later, at the appropriate time, maybe… why not? It would be rather fun to observe his reaction… right before... getting down to work with their… exercises, she, to talk still with his colourful but undeniably expressive language, would have settled the score with her lovable Adun.

* * *

"What have you going to do of me, master?"

The beastly face seemed to wince.

The Human stood silent for a little while, with his eye staring at the Princess. And, undeniably, with an expression of surprise into its deep blue.

And of admiration

The Princess was sure she wasn't mistaken.

And she felt proud of this. Inexplicably, she felt prouder than it had ever happened to her to feel before.

Then the great leonine head nodded. The rough, ironic and mocking voice rang out, in the pavilion. Low and, somehow, soft, as much as it could be capable of sounding so.

"Remarkable, my Princess. Precise. Concise. Direct. Without unnecessary frills. Really worthy of the princess that you are. So... no more Lord, eh? Master. Yes, master. Well, this certainly has its own logic. Yes. I think it is appropriate. In effect, at present, there are enough elements to say that I may be considered as such. I mean, as your Master, your Highness. "

The Princess raised her eyebrow.

* * *

" _The Princess raised her eyebrow?_ Oh oh, my sweetness! At this point there can really be no more doubts!"

T'Pol's eyebrow got up. Exactly as that of the Princess. Which made visibly increase Trip's agitation.

"About what, my Lord?"

Trip snorted. "Your Lord wants to mean that even in this the two of you, you and the Princess resemble each other. Even in the way of posturing. The eyebrow. The eyebrow! You and the Princ..."

"I think this is already sufficiently established, my Husband and Lord. Consequently, being things so, would you be kind enough to let us go on?"

"Huh? Oh, ahem... sure, sure. Sure. I'm sorry, Princess... hell, no! I mean... sorry, T'P..."

"Can we continue... master?"

"Master? Oh... ah... yeah, right... sure... master!" Trip cleared his throat. "Let's go forward, T'Pol."

"Very well. Master."

* * *

The Princess threw back her head.

She knew that in this way her collar would have been fully visible.

She managed to make her voice resound steadfast and swaggering.

"Do you mean this, master?"

Then she straightened her head and looked defiantly at the Human, who was watching her, silently and intently.

She pulled herself up completely into a sitting position.

The blanket slid down until her lap, exposing totally her bust.

Her shapely hips

Her rounded and soft breasts.

And her hands didn't dash to take up the blanket to cover herself.

* * *

T'Pol forestalled Trip. It took only one move of her eyebrow. And Trip did not dare breathe.

* * *

Her hands snapped instead to grab the chain that held her by her neck.

They showed challengingly the chain to the Human.

"And this, master?"

Her left hand grabbed her collar. Her right hand shook the chain.

"Are these ones the elements you refer to, master?"

For a moment the Nameless One stood immovable in silence.

Then, his eye darkened.

The Princess felt her heart tremble. The bravery failed her.

The Nameless One stepped forward.

He stopped beside the bed.

* * *

 _ **End of Chapter**_ _ **Seventeen**_

 _ **TBC**_

 **oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo**

 _Here. It is here that I had to stop._

 _Please understand me, my friends._

 _I promise that soon my hand will stop shaking._


	18. The Ears of the Elves - Chapter 18

**The Ears of the Elves**

 **By Asso**

 **Chapter Eighteen**

* * *

 _Mysterious is the human soul._

 _Even of a Human as the Nameless One, who thinks not to have a soul anymore._

 _Mysterious and unpredictable._

 _Incomprehensible, often. Even to ourselves._

 _And the soul of the Elves is no exception._

 _Whether it's common Elves, whether it's an Elvish Princess._

* * *

 **The Ears of the Elves**

 **Chapter Eighteen**

 **ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo**

 **ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo**

Trip's voice suddenly got superimposed to that of T'Pol, overpowered it.

He took to read aloud, in first person, with a kind of anxiety, almost of frenzy, as if he wanted to get to the point quickly.

As if, despite all the previous 'exorcisms', despite all he, he himself, had told T'Pol and himself and had adamantly asserted really both convincingly and with self-conviction, he wanted to finish at the earliest the part that he knew would have weighed a ton on his heart.

* * *

The Princess felt her heart sank.

Her wide-open eyes chained themselves on the blue eye and cold that was staring at her, on the black blindfold covering the other eye, the one… that there was not.

On the eerily human and bestial face turned down at her.

On the dark figure who stood silently watching her.

On the towering and menacing man-non-man, standing up, right next to the bed where she sat with fatigue, naked, with only her legs hidden from his sight under the flimsy barrier of the blanket.

* * *

T'Pol lowered the PADD.

She did not want Trip to keep reading. Not with that insane fieriness. Not that way.

But Trip grabbed the PADD and lifted it up, without caring of T'Pol's worried look.

He resumed reading aloud.

Hectic.

* * *

The heart of the Princess began to beat wildly.

Her bare and flourishing breast got up in a sigh of sorrow.

Here, the moment had come.

Her hands let go collar and chain.

They fell trembling on the bed.

She closed her eyes.

 _The moment had come._

* * *

"Trip! Stop it! Stop it! Not this way!"

But he did not give ear to her.

* * *

There was silence.

There was wait.

There was an oppressed heart.

In the silence and in the wait.

The Princess's heart.

And suddenly, the silence, the wait, were broken.

The Nameless One spoke.

"Princess."

A harsh recall.

With effort, the Princess opened her eyes, moist with despair.

They saw that horrendous face.

That leonine mouth.

Which did move.

Did speak.

Without the slightest shadow of kindness, real or fictitious.

The words fell like stones into the Princess.

They rolled painfully, deep, in her aching soul.

"The collar... the chain... symbols, Princess. Signs. Nothing more."

A hint of a stern smile stretched the beastly lips on the face of beast. "I do not need them to demonstrate what I am... _now_... for you."

The smile became more marked. It got sneering. As well as the voice. "They are only little things, and nothing else. Little useful things. Useful. This is true."

The blue eye flashed, as the mocking tone grew more evident. "Now you are not in top form, my sweet Princess, but I'm pretty sure that even in your present state you'd be able to sneak away, maybe, judging from your previous performances, even graciously disembowelling, if necessary, not a few of my men. Slightly difficult, I grant you, barehanded as you are." The derisive highlighting of her impotence lashed painfully the Princess's soul. "But you never know.

The sinister glint in the eye flashed again in the gloom of the tent. "Better to limit your action range with adequate means of restraint."

The eye darkened once more and the monstrous face became granite. "I'd rather not lose you, my pretty Princess. You know, you have some use to me."

The mouth-maw twisted in a jeering sneer. " _Various_ uses, my charming Princess."

The Princess swallowed.

 _ **The moment had come.**_

* * *

"TRIP!"

But Trip went on, without paying heed to T'Pol in any way.

* * *

"Various. Sure. And very important and about which I will inform you in due time. But, allow me, Your Grace, right now, in all honesty, there's a _peculiar_ use which takes precedence over any other. An use, my gracious Princess, just tailored to the beautiful Princess you are."

The mane fluttered. The beastly, human head made an eloquent nod, pointing to the Princess. "Because you are beautiful. Certainly. No doubt about that."

The head of beast and man nodded with conviction. "Beautiful. So you are. I'm not vainly flattering you. You are decidedly lovely, my Princess. More. You're gorgeous. You know it, don't you?"

The Princess shuddered at hearing those words, at feeling, more than seeing, that eye which scrutinized her, shamelessly, with total impudence, from the tip of her ears up to down, up to the limit of the blanket, in all her nakedness, nothing of her, except her legs, concealed from its brazen, mocking… predatory… stare.

She shivered, as she, even more than seeing, literally felt it linger on her breasts, naked and panting; on her whole body, naked and trembling.

She shuddered with fear.

With shame.

And… with an unmentionable pride.

 _With pleasure._

In seeing, in feeling that eye wrap her forms, her nakedness, with blatant admiration, with bald-faced appreciation.

At hearing those brash words that impudently praised her beauty.

She gulped.

With fear. For what she knew would happen.

With shame. For her condition and for what she knew would happen.

And with shame for the pride she felt.

 _For the pleasure she felt._

* * *

Trip stopped suddenly. He looked at T'Pol with a surprised and confused look.

"Honey, but... but these passages... you can not... it's not possible you did not notice them!"

T'Pol was forced to sigh again. She lowered her gaze for a moment.

"I've noticed them, Adun. But I did not give them all the meaning they truly take on in the light of what you made me realize, I admit. I thought this were the beginning, strange and even unexplainable, in a sense, of the Princess's attraction for the Nameless One. I failed in grasping - which actually makes everything definitely more understandable - that her feelings were in reality the expression of... "

"... Of what had already blossomed inside her for her... master!"

T'Pol nodded. "Yes, it's so, T'hai'la. You know ..." Her lips parted in what was a slight but unmistakable smile. "...I do not know a lot about feelings, am not too much versed in this matter."

For a second Trip remained practically speechless. Then he smiled back. A broad smile.

"Ah, you're not too much versed in feelings, huh?"

"Of course." T'Pol's face was now stone. "I am a Vulcan, do you remember, my Husband and Lord?"

Trip's expression grew serious as much as that of T'Pol, at least in case you had let slip the crafty twinkle that glistened in his blue eyes. "Sure, I remember it well, my cold and controlled vulcan wife, inexperienced in feelings."

Then he curled his lips into a wily and amused grin, as he pointed his forefinger at her, waving it. "T'Pol, let's face it. If I am the devil, you're a she-devil. A devil of she-devil!"

T'Pol raised her eyebrow. "Well, am I or I am not, inevitably, the mirror of what you are? I mean, the unwritten but ironclad law of Vulcan speaks clearly about how a wife must be toward her husband. This is now perfectly established, right? She must be obedient. In every way. Consequently even in his way of being. She must go along with him in every way. To the point, to be absolutely clear, that if he is a demon, she must be a demoness. And, o my devilish Husband and Lord, am I or I am not, according to the plurimillennial vulcan rules, your wife of law and fact?"

Trip laughed. A large laughter and liberating.

"You are, honey! You are, in full and with full rights!"

T'Pol nodded seriously. "Very well. So, is to your _'in full and with full right'_ wife accorded permission to resume to read along with you without running, as you would say, at breakneck speed?"

Trip nodded with ostentatious pomposity. "Permission granted, o my fiendish wife."

"Very good, o my fiendish Husband and Lord."

* * *

"Yes, you are magnificent. Definitely, my delicious, splendid, lovely, beautiful… _appetizing_ … Princess. And…" The Nameless One's right hand, the one made of flesh, rose up in the air. It moved majestic. With a wide gesture, it pointed to the Princess. To her exposed nude forms. "…there is no need either of a collar or a chain to make it clear that all this magnificence now belongs to this poor, miserable, monstrous Human, without name or soul."

And abruptly, the hand went down.

It came down. Rapid, rapacious. Toward the bare breasts of the Princess.

The Princess winced.

Gasped.

She closed her eyes again, with her heart in her throat.

She seemed to feel, _almost_ _she could feel_ , as if it were real, the hand go to close up around one of her breasts, bold and arrogant, like if wanting to assert its possession.

She seemed to feel, _almost_ _she could feel_ , as if it were real, its impudent fingers start to stroke her breast with overbearance.

The smooth skin. The turgid nipple.

* * *

And abruptly Trip blurted out.

"But fight, damn, Princess! Fight! Rebel! Do not stand there, like a stockfish!"

T'Pol's eyebrow rose again.

"Adun, but have we not said that the Princess will not fight? That she ..."

"Yes, yes! Yes, damn it! Yes! But... but not even a hint? An attempt? A faint idea?"

"Trip..."

"She can't... she won't... she ..."

Trip stood up abruptly, in his impetuosity, in the heat of the moment, oblivious of everything. Even that T'Pol was sitting on his lap.

T'Pol found herself on the ground, dazed and confused. With the PADD in hand.

Trip jerked.

"Oh my God! Hon! Excuse me," Please forgive me! I... I ..."

T'Pol stood up. With dignity. Well, I mean. With as much dignity as she could have at that moment.

She looked sternly at Trip.

Then she spoke, under Trip's bewildered look.

And her voice was not at all severe.

It was sweet.

It was full of love.

As her gaze.

As the hand that caressed her Adun's face.

"T'hai'la, do not apologize. No need. Your impetuousness is the mirror of the impetuousness of your feelings. They are scorching. And... I love to be scorched by them."

Eyes, mouth, arms, hands...

Trip remained with all these things wide open.

Then he managed to stammer something.

"You... you... lo... lo... love...?"

"Do you doubt it, Ashal-veh? Do you doubt that it is so?"

"But... no... no... but..."

"I was afraid to get burned by the fire of your feelings for me. By the fire of my feelings for you. Instead this fire is the fire of my life, my Adun. It is the fire that fuels it."

Trip's hands snapped to grasp with strength and gentleness T'Pol's face. His face grew extremely close to hers. His eyes sank into hers.

"T'Pol! Honey!"

"And maybe the Princess is already perceiving how vain it's fighting this fire, Adun. Maybe she... is wiser than me."

Trip swallowed. He struggled to hold back tears.

He was able to speak, finally, with the face of T'Pol still tight lovingly between his hands. "Do you know, wifey? I think really I am a very lucky man."

T'Pol raised her eyebrow. "That of luck is a concept devoid of logic, but, in your case, I think it has some validity."

Trip laughed. "Ah, you think so?"

"I think so, Husband."

"Okay. On this, it seems, the two of us agree. For once."

"Admittedly. And that's really out of all logic."

Trip's laughter filled the room. "Okay, okay. The game is yours, honey. I give up. White flag. Do you understand?"

"I understand perfectly, Husband. Remember, I am a ..."

"A vulcan female. I know."

T'Pol's face softened. Her eyes became so much sweet as to be languishing. "Yes. A vulcan female in..."

T'Pol didn't utter that word. But there was no need for her to say it.

And then no one spoke anymore. For a not short time.

Only the eyes and the hearts.

They, yes, spoke.

Trip was the one who first woke. "Well, my dear vulcan female. Do we want to see how an elven female is found to deal with this strange, unpredictable feeling that is love?"

T'Pol watched impressed Trip. Once again he had managed to strike her, to hit the mark. "Yes, it is true, Trip. It's really an unpredictable feeling."

Trip chuckled. "Well, I can understand you, darling. Of course you would never have thought, when you went around among the stars before our fates could meet, that in your heart, one day, a feeling of this kind might blossom. For a Human."

The chuckle turned into a wide smile and cheeky, and definitely satisfied. "For me."

Then the smile became tender. "But if this can console you, me neither I would have ever imagined that my heart would one day be overflowing with love for a vulcan female."

The smile disappeared. Trip's face became serious as never. His thumbs began to gently caress T'Pol's temples, her face still in his hands. "For you."

And this time it was the turn of T'Pol to swallow. And to struggle to hold back tears.

Then she too shook herself. "Okay, my unexpected Adun. Let's see how our Princess - our elven female - can be found to deal with this unpredictable feeling."

It was a joke, nothing more, a playful response to Trip's playful statement, which incorporated this same statement; just in order to lighten the mood, just like he would have done and like she had learned from him; just one of the jokes that she - and not too much reluctantly to be honest - had learned to make in grace of the Bond.

But just as she said these words, T'Pol realized they meant much more than she meant to say.

 _Unpredictable._

This word began to buzz powerfully in her mind.

 _An unpredictable feeling._

 _So much unpredictable that it can…_

And T'Pol understood. Now, after all that she and Trip had said to each other and about which they had argued, after all that Trip had managed to make clear to her...

She understood.

Before, when she had immersed herself alone in the reading of the tale, her ideas and impressions were not - could not be - as clear as they were now.

But now... she understood.

Plainly.

Oh yes. A feeling, _that one_ , very unpredictable. And powerful.

For her.

For her Adun.

And for the Princess, obviously, as Trip has rightly brought in light.

 _But not only for her._

"T'Pol! What happens? Why that look? What are you thinking?"

T'Pol looked up at Trip's eyes, conscious of what he wanted to mean, of the odd expression that had to be in her gaze.

And so, her expression changed, but not for going back to be less… peculiar. It became... well, can you believe it?... foxy.

And, whether she was really conscious of this or not, her expression turned so for a precise aim. Eh sure. Because, it was a magnificent opportunity to have fun at expense of her devilish soul mate. _To play the she-devil_. The wife just right for the devil that he was. A pleasure, this one, denied to the other vulcan females and perhaps not too much logical, but, undoubtedly, a delicious pleasure. This time it would be her turn to surprise him, to bamboozle him. And this was a very pleasant thought.

In truth, T'Pol was well aware that all this was not properly consonant with what should have been the way of being of a vulcan female and, in some way, she felt embarrassed. Mh, no. Let's say annoyed, just not to say angry.

Damned Adun! Possible that he was able to influence her so much?

But, after all…

Oh well. Silly and illogical fighting the windmills, as he would say, so she decided on the instant that that expression on her part was just fine.

Indeed, actually…

Well, actually she did not have any scruples in not striving to mask it. Eh sure. Because, the consequence of such an expression on her part was the uncertain and vaguely worried expression of Trip and she loved to enjoy his uncertain and vaguely worried expression.

Obviously if it was her to cause it.

Oh yes. She loved to make him so. Not really consistent with the customary conduct of a customary vulcan wife, but with the conduct of the vulcan wife of a human husband, especially of _**that**_ human husband... well, yes. Definitely.

"Hon?"

And she loved it when he turned to her in that way. Uncertain and vaguely worried.

Obviously if the cause was her.

She extricated her face from his hands and made a step back.

"Yes?" So. With nonchalance. Her hands peacefully folded behind her back.

"Honey, and why that look, now?"

"What look, Adun?"

"Oh come on! Stop it! You know what I mean! That look... foxy!"

"But, T'hai'la, Vulcans do not have foxy looks."

"T'Pol!"

"But if you mean this kind of look ..." And T'Pol's look became even more foxy. "

"Precisely this!"

"... well, maybe that's something that has to do with the unpredictability of the feeling of which we speak, my Husband and Lord; the one that bonds the two of us, that led me to yield, to surrender to it and to you, to give you my whole self. Really unpredictable. As also the fable teaches, if one pays to it all the attention it requires."

Trip's look grew even more uncertain. Somehow, he should have felt flattered by T'Pol's assertion, but something was not right.

Something…

The fable! Here, it was this! It was something that was in the fable and that he had kept from being read due to one of his many, impetuous interruptions, something that had to be not insignificant, judging by the strange expression assumed by T'Pol before the one, _foxy_ , that she flaunted now. An expression, the previous one, which said it all, thinking about it, on the fact that was something that T'Pol herself had noticed only now.

And T'Pol was making him notice all this. Without telling him anything openly.

Telling him, without telling, _'if you do not stop, my dear husband, we will end up losing something important.'_

And keeping him on the string.

Whetting him.

In other words, teasing him deliberately!

By using his own weapons.

By having fun at his expense.

Just as he would have done with her.

So. Just for the fun of it. Sure. Maybe or, rather, most likely, exactly for that.

Damned she-devil of a wife!

"Wife! Am I wrong, or you're showing disrespect to your Husband and Lord?"

"Could I ever dare do this?"

"Yes."

"You really think so, my Husband and Lord?"

"Damnit, T'Pol! Of course I think so!"

"Oh, but then it must be true! My husband and Lord can not be wrong!"

"T'Poool! Damn!"

"I apologize to you, my Husband and Lord. Evidently the feeling in question is really unpredictable. It leads to do things really unpredictable. And even to make happen unpredictable things."

Trip became attentive. Something in T'Pol's tone had imperceptibly changed. And even in her gaze. And the bond throbbed, which meant it all.

"What do you mean, T'Pol?"

T'Pol did not answer. She got into action.

She loosened her hands from behind her back and, with the PADD tightly in one, she leant the other, flat, on Trip's chest and pushed him down to sit back on the couch. She made him literally drop to sit on it.

While Trip remained watching her from his forced sitting position with confused and surprised eyes, she, in turn, swooped on his lap, regaining her comfortable position, seated on his knees.

She prevented any reaction on his part. She put a finger to his lips.

"Now shut up, Adun. I'll show you what I mean. The Princess, she, will show it. She and the Nameless One."

* * *

But no hand profaned her breast.

The seconds passed and no greedy finger offended her flesh, insulted her skin, outraged her nipple.

Uncertain, fearful, the Princess opened her eyes again.

He was there.

He was still there.

And his hand...

The Princess's eyes alighted doubtful and unsure on his hand.

Open, but not completely, with the fingers slightly stretched out, like if striving to reach their destination.

And firm.

Motionless.

Less than an inch from her bare breasts.

And at that moment, the hand shot out.

It went down.

It went to lean. With the fingertips. Gently. On her chest.

Above her breast.

And gently... kindly... the hand pushed her down.

Then, it went up and stood still again for a while.

Lying, now, on the bed, the Princess saw it move once again.

She saw it go down toward her legs, saw it grab the edge of the blanket.

Saw it pull up the blanket.

The Princess's puzzled and amazed eyes turned to stare at the monstrous face of her captor and master, while that hand, together with the other, - gently; kindly - carefully lay down the blanket over her.

While, together, they covered her.

While they concealed her nakedness.

Gently.

Kindly.

The Princess continued to stare, confused, without understanding, at that blue eye. Hard. And yet not ... not grim? Could it be possible to say so?

That blue eye and beautiful, which was staring at her in turn. Intently.

Strangely.

The hands went up and were crossed on the chest of the gigantic Human, erect, now, in all his imposing stature, near to the bed, at its right side.

With the monstrous face turned down toward her.

With the bushy, blonde mane crowning the proud and fierce head, descending until to rest on the mighty shoulders.

And just then, it resounded again.

His voice.

Low.

Ironic.

And yet not... not sardonic? Could it be possible to say so?

"Apparently it has become a habit. Whether it's my cloak or your blanket, I continue to find myself in the condition to have to cover your slightly too much exposed secret beauty, my absent-minded Princess, who pays so little attention to avoid putting on display what normally should not be exhibited."

And that?

Was it... was it a chuckle? That voice ... that rough and harsh voice ... was it chuckling, by chance, without... without malice? Without derision?

"You should be a little more careful, my careless Princess. Things like those that you have recklessly sported, when exposed, considering their provoking beauty, can induce any possible boy having the fortune to see them to strange and not exactly edifying thoughts."

The Princess was now totally disoriented.

All hidden under the blanket with only her face visible, with her hands that tormented each other under the quilt, still staring with baffled eyes at that beastly and indecipherable face, she tried to understand.

She attempted to do so.

"But... but... I thought ..." It was uncertain, her voice. Confused. Like her mind.

"Master." So she called him. It came natural to her. "You... you said... you said that... that..." It was hard to tell. "... that, presently, you... you would have made a... a particular use of me."

"And I haven't certainly changed my mind. I..." A strange note. A rough note, bitter, echoed in the voice. "... never change my mind. I'm going straight to the road that my benevolent fate decided to trace for me."

Then, the note disappeared.

"But a master worthy of this name, my naive Princess, must above all take care of his properties."

The great figure stepped back without turning.

"I have made it so that your wounds have been treated and you been clean and cared. Now I have to do the rest. I have to refresh you."

The voice paused for a moment.

"You have to eat and drink."

Another pause. And a short ironic laugh.

"And also, probably, to do something else. Eating and drinking are not the only physiological needs one has."

The wry laugh made itself heard again.

"I want you in perfect conditions for the peculiar use that I will make of you. You have not to struggle to hold back any physiological necessity. It would be inexpedient and unpleasant. It could lead to uncomely and indecorous consequences, undoubtedly of serious obstacle to a correct and satisfactory implementation of the use related to your charming personal attributes we are talking about."

The eye, which had shone ironic, became stern again, just like the leonine face.

"But above all, my exhausted Princess, I want you to be fit. In possession of all your strength. I don't like not to meet resistance."

The bantering snigger, again.

"Without fight, there is no pleasure."

* * *

"But you really are a bastard, do you know? You're not without name or soul, you're merely a lousy worm without honour! You're a wretch! You deserve to have been marked by a malignant fate!"

"Adun! Again? But do you want or don't you want to let me... no, the Princess... no, the Nameless One... make you understand what I have understood and, on top of that - take heed - just thanks to you? And in addition, do you like so much insulting yourself?"

Caught off guard, dumbfounded, but too much angry to fully grasp T'Pol's words, Trip fumbled for saying something in response.

"Yes, yes... he is me! True. Agree. I know. I know, damnit! But he's... he's... "

Then, unable yet to give the right weight to what T'Pol had said, he realized, nevertheless, that he had once again succumbed to his impetuosity. He had interrupted their reading again with an unwise and pointless explosion of anger.

Compunctious and contrite, Trip stopped abruptly. He dared not even breathe. If he had been a dog, he would have kept the ears down.

And, to make matters worse, T'Pol laid it on thicker. She had something to say yet.

"You taught me to have an open mind, T'hai'la. Now do you want to be the one who doesn't have it?"

Trip narrowed his eyes. He looked closely at T'Pol, while, contemporaneously, his brain was beginning at last to grind out her prior words. "What do you mean, T'Pol?"

T'Pol took a deep breath. "T'hai'la, the Nameless One is a monster. Outside and inside. In body and soul, even though he thinks and claims that he has no longer a soul. The stepmother nature, the Humans and also the Elves made him a monster, inside and outside. A monster marked by a malignant fate, just as you said. And how can a monster like him think that a woman could nourish some feeling for him? This is beyond any conception for him. No woman will ever feel something for him. Never. And he doesn't think in the least - he can not - that that woman, just that one, can feel something for him. And besides, not even she knows it yet, despite being so, just as you have understood and made me realize, Adun."

T'Pol took a breath for a brief moment, as Trip continued to listen to her with keen attention.

"But, even more, how can he think, how can he even remotely conceive to be able to be him, precisely him, to nourish some feeling for a woman? For the Princess? She, for him, is nothing but a woman, a _gorgeous_ woman, and, most importantly, the woman who is the true living symbol of the hated Elves and on whom he can take revenge by humiliating her, by possessing her with violence and brutality."

Trip shifted uncomfortably. "T'Pol...".

But T'Pol didn't give him time. "And nevertheless…" – She looked at Trip straight in the eye. – "…he did not do what the Princess thought he would. Rather… T'hai'la, think about it… rather he almost seems to act as if trying in some way to protect her. But, Adun, from whom might he ever think to protect her? Even unconsciously? From whom, even though he may not realize it? From whom else if not from..."

Trip goggled. "From him himself!"

"Yes, Adun." T'Pol nodded thoughtfully. "I have understood this only now. I've got it after you made me realize that the Princess had... Oh well! That's the term!... had fallen in love with him from the very beginning."

"Only God knows why!"

"I realize what you want to say and I understand you. But there is no doubt, Adun. So many signs, so many elements, that you, yourself, pointed out, say it is so."

"Yeah, sure. But… that's what you want to mean, hon?... but there are other signs, other elements. Also… also the Nameless One... even inside him..."

"Yes, even inside him the fire, as you have called it, blazed from the very beginning, just as basically you yourself have already said, though not in these terms, so specific, I mean. But if for the Princess it is almost impossible even only to suspect, go figure for him! He can not even come close to having a shadow of suspicion. And nevertheless, he does not behave with the Princess as we would expect him to do. He seems almost to strive, somehow, to find some justification for his incomprehensible behaviour. Incomprehensible even to him."

"Yeah." Trip nodded back, he too thoughtfully. "It is true, you're right, hon. He covers and protects her with the cloak and…"

"And afterwards he covers and protects her with the blanket."

"He says that he will make some use of her and…"

"And then he does not."

"He makes as if wanting to prove with... hand that he is her master and…"

"And then his hand does something else."

"Actually, it pushes her gently down to rest on the bed and…"

"And covers her with the quilt, with kindness and care."

"And, even, the Nameless One tells the Princess that he wants her to be fine, to eat, to drink, to return to be fit."

"Not to mention that even before he made sure that she was looked after and taken care of and washed and cleaned."

"Yeah, it is so, it so! But he always..."

"He always finds for his actions reasons consistent with what he is. That's what you want to say, Adun?"

"Y…yes, T'Pol."

"True, T'hai'la. True. But, perhaps, he can't help but do so. Perhaps he can't help but find reasons that are apparently… _apparently_ , Adun… consistent with what he is. With what he can not even conceive not to be."

Trip looked at T'Pol as if she was a sibyl. "So, when he says to the Princess that he wants her to restore her energies because he wants her to be able to put up resistance, because… _without fight there is no pleasure_ …? _'_ "

"Perhaps, Adun, in reality the Nameless One, without even being aware of it, is only trying to justify the fact that he has told the Princess... _and that, within himself, he really desires_... that he wants her to eat and drink. To recover. To go back to be the vital and strong elven princess who, to speak like you would do, has inflamed that soul that he believed to have no more."

T'Pol had to struggle to hold back the smug laughing that she felt that was going to burst forth from her in seeing Trip's stunned look in hearing her talk like that. A smile, however, she couldn't help but do it. "Am I wrong, T'hai'la? Wouldn't it be so that you would express yourself?"

"Su… surely. But let's not... let's not digress, T'Pol. Do you really think...?"

"Yes, T'hai'la, I think it is so. And you too. Is it not, after all, what you yourself have already thought and said?"

"Well, actually..."

"And, remember, Adun. The Nameless One stopped. He did not do what he intended to do."

"Yeah, he stopped, actually."

"And why should a monster without a soul like him desist from abusing a woman simply because she is weak and unable to resist? And that woman, in addition, the true Princess of the loathed elven people. If anything, he should rejoice in doing it, in forcing her to his wishes, not being she even able to lift a finger to prevent it."

"And instead he does not."

"And his voice, T'hai'la, his voice and even his manners appear different."

Trip nodded his head. "Yeah. Actually, a sort of care shines through them."

"Care, just care. This is the term. And why ever, Adun?"

Trip nodded again. Several times. Pensive. Then he shook himself, watched T'Pol with clear eyes and finally spoke.

"You're right, Hon. Totally, on the whole line. Something is born within the Nameless One. Something, a feeling, that he can not understand, not to say conceive. And of this, in truth, we were already aware, we had understood it. But now we know that it is born inside him in the very moment when he has seen the Princess."

"It is so, Adun. But, wanting be honest, it was you, the one who first has figured it out. And it was you, the one who…" - T'Pol's voice seemed to smile in place of her mouth. - "…put me on track."

Trip smiled for real. A contented smile and cheerful. "Perhaps. Indeed yes, it is true. But if I've understood it, you've done more, hon. You've proved it. With rigor and logic, as it befits a true Vulcan."

Trip's finger gleefully teased the tip of T'Pol's nose. "A demonstration really worthy of the gorgeous and clever vulcan female that you are, hon. You must be proud of you."

And T'Pol felt proud.

And more in love than ever.

Her Adun knew how to treat her. He knew... how to make her happy.

There could not be a better Adun than him.

She was pulled away from her delicious thoughts by the deep sigh of Trip.

"Adun?"

"T'Pol, I think…" His finger stroked absent-mindedly T'Pol's cheek. "…I mean… the Nameless One… surely he has incurred tremendous battles. His life has been a life of hatred and war. Against fate, against everything, against everyone. But the battle in which he is going to engage against himself, without even understanding he is going to do it, will be the toughest of his battles."

T'Pol clung to Trip. She spoke softly. "Yes. It's true. And only the Princess, if she understands it, if she understands what was born inside her for the Nameless One..."

"...and if she finds the courage and strength to go beyond the monstrous aspect of him..."

"...and also to bring out in him, too, the awareness of what in him too was born..."

"...and the courage and the strength, too, to pick up the pale shreds of soul that, as it turns out, still exist, somewhere inside him..." Trip held even tighter T'Pol to him. "...can make it so that he can win this battle. The most terrible of his whole life."

T'Pol nodded against Trip's chest. "Yes."

Trip stroked the soft hair of T'Pol. "The Princess is in the hands of the Nameless One, but in the hands of the Princess there is the Nameless One. And I'm not talking about his life. I'm talking about much more. Everything rests on the Princess. The power... the real power... is hers."

T'Pol nodded again. "Yes."

Trip pulled away T'Pol from him. He looked at her intently. "Just like my life, and far more than my life, have been placed in your hands, T'Pol. You saved me, with your love, even if by you stubbornly denied. You saved me from my grudge. For the Xindi. For the entire universe. You saved me from myself. As the Princess will do with the Nameless One. Maybe even denying, as you did for so long with me, her love for him. Really those two are what we two, you and me, are."

"It was you who brought me to admit and to accept what I felt for you, Adun."

"But you have kindled the fire within me, hon."

"Just as you did with me. You, though, have done much more. You have fuelled that fire, Adun. You have made sure that it could continue to blaze up, have prevented me from letting it extinguish stupidly. You won the battle against yourself and against me."

Trip smiled sweetly. "As also the Nameless One will do?"

T'Pol sighed with contentment. "Yes."

"It could not be otherwise, hon. I mean for us two as well as for the Princess and the Nameless One. Because we two love each other. We have loved each other from the very first moment, exactly as…"

"As the Princess and the Nameless One."

"Yes, T'Pol. And also in this case it could not be otherwise, because those two are us. And we have always loved each other and always we will do. Never the flame of our love will die."

T'Pol buried her face in Trip's chest and sighed again against it of appeasement and true happiness. "Yes."

"And you, my love, you have understood that this flame, the flame of our love, born even before us, even before the Princess and the Nameless One, had flared up from the very beginning not only in her, but also in him."

T'Pol broke away from Trip. She stared at him. "You, Adun, you brought me to understand it. With your remarks, with your insights, you brought me to realize things that I had not noticed, to grasp all the clues, all the significant elements lying in the way of acting of the Nameless One, in his words, even in his flaunted sarcasm."

Trip, unexpectedly, made a sly smile. "All right. I can also have supplied to you the handhold, but you've arrived well beyond what I had guessed." The smile became even more cunning, but also sweet and warm. "And you'd be the one who is not too savvy in feelings!"

T'Pol's eyebrow rose up, but, somehow, her expression appeared far from being à la T'Pol. "I had a devil of a teacher, Adun."

Trip laughed loud. "Well, no doubt about it. You are really a she-devil."

T'Pol's eyebrow rose a little bit more. "Do you think I may be a she-devil worthy of the devil that it's you, my Husband and Lord?"

"I really think so, my she-devil."

"Very good. This is quite gratifying, my Husband and Lord. "

Trip inevitably laughed again. "Poor Nameless One! He does not know in what sort of trap he's going to wind up! Watch out, man! That woman, the Princess, is the forerunner of my demoness, of my T'Pol!

T'Pol's eyebrow did not go down, but even the corners of her lips rose up in an unconcealed light smile, that she, however, in no way strived to hide. "It would be interesting to know how such demoness, such T'Pol ahead of the times, will act, do not you think, my malefic Husband and Lord?"

"Of course! But, perhaps, at this moment, even more, how the Nameless One will act. "

"So why not see it together, my demoniac Husband and Master?"

"You mean that it would be good to keep reading, my demoniac wife?"

"Exactly, my diabolical Husband and Master."

"I concur. Let's continue, my diabolical wife. Also because I want to know... well, I mean... I'm left very negatively impressed by the phrase of the Nameless One! "

"You mean the phrase _'Without fight, there is no pleasure'_?"

"Precisely. I do not like it at all."

"And you want to know how it will end."

"Yup. Exact."

"Adun, we know that there will be no fight. We have already discussed about that, and just you have guessed out why."

"Well, there will be the blackmail, however, which, if I must cap it all, I like even less. And, in any case, it is a very bad phrase. A decidedly awful statement."

At that point T'Pol was tempted to smile glaringly. She did not, but Trip noticed that she was, to put it right, laughing up her sleeve.

"T'Pol, why that foxlike air again?"

"T'hai'la, I've already said. Vulcans do not ..."

"Oh come on, T'Pol! Let's not start again!"

"But T'hai'la! My Husb…"

"Cut it out with that 'Husband and Lord'! Do not try to cajole me!" Trip was decidedly getting angry. "T'Pol, you're certainly a perfect Vulcan, but you're also a demoness. You said it yourself. And a damn crafty demoness. Therefore, out with it! What's up, this time? What, that makes you amuse yourself at my expense? Because it is so, isn't it, my foxy wife? I said something you've found quite funny, which makes you want to tease me again."

T'Pol realized. Probably she was really exaggerating and there was to think that Trip was easy to light up like a matchstick, just to use one on his countless idioms. Difficult to handle, sometimes, and also irritating, but he was _**her**_ matchstick, and, after all, she liked his flammable nature. Mysteries of... love, he would have said. And then there was to be said that, albeit in her own way, she, too, didn't joke at all, in this matter. So, in the end, best not to insist, also because, ultimately, her Adun was right. He had said nothing wrong, nothing for which she should have made fun of him. It was his statement in itself, which, in some way, had given her that foxy air again. It was appropriate to explain this to him and also the why.

"Trip, I'm sorry. I'm not amusing myself at your expense again, like... like I did before. The fact is that..."

"Ah. You admit it then!"

"I admit it, Adun. It's the result of your influence on me."

Trip was forced to let it slide and, indeed, he felt guilty. Actually, it was just so. And the one who makes his bed, must lie in it. He calmed down at once. He spoke softly. "T'Pol, it is you who must forgive me. I did not want to be rude. But... well, you know how I'm made."

"Yes, I know. You are made specially for me."

And so he was fixed up. To perfection. At that point, the least he could do was to wear sackcloth and ashes.

"T'Pol ... uh ... ah ... I ... I really ask you for forgiveness. Really. You too are made for me. Totally. Even when you put on that foxy air. Actually, if possible, when you do, I like you even more. And I love when you tease me."

And so, even T'Pol was well fixed up.

At that point there couldn't be but one solution. And T'Pol adopted it immediately.

She kissed her Trip.

And rather passionately.

And, after this, it was easy to explain herself with him.

She did not wait for him to ask her again the why of her foxlike air.

"Adun, I admit that I was tempted to tease you one more time, and, in part, that's why I assumed that… foxy air again. But, you see, what you said..."

"What, T'Pol?"

"That you found awful the Nameless One's phrase."

"Yeah? So? Is it not, perhaps?"

"It is, it is, T'hai'la. But, after all that we've understood... the flame... the flame that starts to burn in him too, in the Nameless One, since the very first moment... Trip, what sense does it, really, a sentence like that? "

Trip looked at T'Pol with a puzzled gaze. "Explain yourself, T'Pol."

"It is a phrase, Trip. A sinister and evil phrase, but merely a phrase. A phrase with which the Nameless One..."

And Trip understood. "Oh but ... sure! It's a phrase with which he tries to find an excuse with himself for the fact that he wants the Princess to be able to restore her strength and get well. Fully."

"Yes, Trip. That's right. Nothing but this. "

"Yeah. I see. Yes, I see. And I also see that I have let myself be misled. And that's why you've been tempted to jeer at me."

"Yes, I admit this too, Adun. Because... because I love to catch you out. As you love to do with me. "

For a moment Trip stood silent. Then he burst out laughing. And how could it have been possible not to do so? He hugged tight his T'Pol, but, right after, decided it was the case to mistreat her a little. Certainly his bad influence on her was not at all unconnected with her execrable behaviour, this was sure, but she was definitely a very fertile ground. Too fertile. She deserved a good lesson.

T'Pol, obviously, didn't bother at all to be ill-treated this way. For Surak! She was a Vulcan! She knew how to face any sort of mistreatment. And this peculiar one was a type of mistreatment that she was able to tackle very well. Thing that she did to perfection.

At the end of the lesson, Trip, giggling, wanted to dot the I's. "Well, honey, we must just say that you and I are two real pieces of work!"

"I beg your pardon?"

"Oh, excuse me! I meant... oh, forget it, it's not important. Enough to say that we are made of the same stuff. This… you understand it, don't you, hon?"

T'Pol replied seriously. Very seriously. However... that mischievous twinkle in her eyes... "I do. And I admit this, too, Adun. And, after long and intense reflection, I reached the conclusion that it was illogical to continue to wonder the why of such an illogical stochastic event."

Trip started to laugh again. Perforce. "Ah, sweetheart! You really are a she-devil! "

"And this too, I admit, Adun. But this is your fault. "

"I accept my faults, honey." Then he chuckled merrily. "Anyway, I don't change my mind. The phrase of the Nameless One is decidedly awful."

"Well, in fact there is no denying. But we must also say that he, much as odious and despicable he may be in his actions and his words, is capable of saying more acceptable sentences. "

"Oh yes?"

"Yes, he does."

"I did not read one only of these phrases, so far."

"So far."

"Ah. This is interesting. You mean that he ..."

T'Pol interrupted Trip with a wave of her hand.

She settled herself comfortably again for reading.

* * *

The Princess had no time to fully internalize the words of the Nameless One. Her heart had no time to add fear to fear, gloom to gloom, pain to pain.

Her horrid master turned abruptly, capturing her attention. He snapped the fingers of his alive hand.

The snap rang in the silence.

From the end of the great tent, from its bottom, a noise was heard.

Something darker than the half-light reigning in the pavilion appeared over there.

A chink, open in the deep dark of the night.

The chink widened; it became a large black opening.

In its midst, two figures, vaguely lit by the uncertain light coming from the braziers, stood silhouetted against the dark beyond it.

The two figures came in and made some steps inside, as the passage closed behind them.

They halted a few steps away from the Nameless One, so that, now more enlightened by the light of the braziers, they revealed themselves for what they were.

Two women. The Princess could see them sufficiently clearly. An elven female and a human female, scantily dressed, covered by nothing but a tiny bra and a short see-through skirt, with the wrists and the ankles chained together and with a collar, likely the same as hers, tight around the neck. They carried something in their hands, each of them, something that they were holding with both hands, something wide and flat, on which there were things, objects that the Princess couldn't discern.

She could discern their faces, though, lighted up in full by the light of a brazier. And their expression.

They were beautiful and looked at the Nameless One with timorous and insecure eyes.

They bowed deeply and reverently in front of him and so they remained while he did not bat an eyelid, did not make a move.

They remained so as long as he didn't make snap his fingers again.

Then, they straighten up and, at a nod of the Nameless One, they made some steps back, their heads still a little bowed, manifesting the greatest deference.

And finally the Nameless One moved.

He approached a brazier. His left hand, the iron one, dived into the brazier and pulled out with a burning stick tight in it. With that in hand, he moved again.

The Princess saw him come close, in an obscure corner of the great tent, to something which looked rather big, but that in the darkness of that corner and moreover partially hidden as it was by the huge form of the Nameless One, who stood between her and the thing with his back turned to her, she wasn't able to see yet.

He stopped in front of the large object and moved the hand that held the burning stick toward it. He seemed to fumble with the firebrand for a while.

A light, a flame light, was kindled from the front of the Nameless One, illuminating sufficiently the dark corner and partially revealing what was the object opposite which the Nameless One had arrested his steps.

It seemed...

The Nameless One moved a little away from it, turned around it and stopped at one of its ends, showing himself sideways to the Princess and exposing in this way it to her sight completely.

The Princess could see it well.

It was a table. A wooden table. Raw. Not big, altho small. With two chairs, they too of wood, next to it, one facing the other, one on each side.

On its rough surface, a large burnished candleholder towered with its many arms. From it, from the sumptuous candelabrum, came the light enlightening the table and the previously dark corner of the tent. The burning stick had been used to turn on its many candles.

The Nameless One moved away from the table. He threw the firebrand on the ground and extinguished it under foot.

He turned. He motioned to the two women.

The women came close to the table and deposited on it the wide and flat objects they carried in their hands.

The Princess, now, could see clearly what they were.

Trays.

One, the one that had been held by the elven woman, full of dishes, each of them filled with food. Venison, vegetables, cheese, fruits of various kinds.

On the other, the one that had been carried by the human woman, there were bottles full of liquids - Water? Wine? Both? Something else? - and glasses.

Served their purpose, the two women bowed again and stepped back quickly, looking at the Nameless One with questioning eyes.

He nodded stiffly and the two women immediately moved away from him, retreating with head bent.

The Princess could see well their expression of relief just before them turn around swiftly for going quickly to reopen the passage on the bottom of the tent to get out of it.

They passed rapidly through the opening.

They disappeared very fast, almost running, in the night; faster than the new closing of the passage.

Now the two of them, she and her master were alone again.

The Princess's eyes, on their own volition, became fixed on the table, illuminated by the flickering but vivid light of the candelabrum.

On the foods and on the beverages.

The tantalizing smell of the foods was rising in the tent. The air was permeated by their fragrance.

Hunger, thirst, made themselves felt.

The Princess's stomach growled. It was heard clearly.

The laughter of the Nameless One made her jump. "The stomach asserts always its rights, eh, Princess? Without caring of the situation."

He made a sweeping gesture with his right arm, pointing to the food and drink on the table. "It's all for you." He looked at her with his mocking eye. "After you will have had the necessary refreshment, we will pass to something else. You will have sufficient strength, at that point."

* * *

"T'Pol! But didn't you say that the Nameless One is able to say more acceptable sentences?"

It was enough a dirty look.

Trip shut his mouth.

* * *

The Princess felt watering mouth.

It was true. Hunger and thirst did not listen to any reason.

With impetus, she tried to stand up again.

The ironic voice of her imprisoner stopped her.

"Ha ha! Stay right there! See to move calmly. I would not be forced to collect you again. I'm not used to such kindness."

The Princess stood firm on the bed, under the blanket, not knowing what to do.

"And I'm also a little tired of having to continue to cover you, my distracted Princess. That does not suit me. That blanket is not the most useful thing to cover your nakedness. It slides down too easily and, frankly, it seems to me that you are not too capable of preventing such a contingency. We must find a remedy."

* * *

"Well, I must admit. Not really a polite phrase, but it certainly doesn't sound like the usual sarcastic and threatening phrases that our good-looking friend is fond of saying. It even seems to sense something like a sort of sympathetic irony. Something is working within our amiable Nameless One. He seems to ... yes, he seems to tease the Princess almost... how to say?...almost affably? is it too much?"

"It is not the best phrase yet. There's another one, which, for more..." T'Pol took on a bizarre expression, very difficult to define. "... Well, you will see it, Adun."

Trip looked intrigued at T'Pol. "A better phrase than this one? And I'll see what, T'Pol?"

T'Pol tidied up a blond curl of Trip. A hint of the previous foxy expression peeped out in her eyes.

"Let's go forward, T'hai'la."

* * *

To the Princess it seemed she weren't able to understand anything anymore. Her... her master was capable of disorienting her completely.

He terrified her; was horrid; was... she knew it, she knew it well... was ruthless, was... wicked. He hated everyone. Humans and Elves. His hands were stained with the blood of innumerable people, with innumerable, horrendous deaths inflicted without discriminations, with innumerable, horrendous tortures meted out without prejudices, even if... even if horrendous... much more than horrendous... had been the vicissitudes of his life, the pain and misery that he had had to suffer and face alone, from the birth, starting... starting with the monstrous brand that nature... precisely nature, the mother of all... had wanted to engrave on his face of human beast.

She knew, knew well, what was the fate that expected her, now that she was his... slave.

She would have paid the price of his hatred!

But he... he was acting so strangely!

He had almost killed her! With his mighty hand! The same hand that had ruthlessly killed Atana. Atana! Her dear, faithful handmaiden! Her trusted friend!

And his words were words of heinous sarcasm; words said perfidiously, with obnoxious pleasure, with abject smugness, to make her glimpse, callously, what would have been her destiny.

Yet… yet he seemed... he seemed... in some strange way… he seemed almost to care about her!

 _And that was impossible!_

And yet... and yet...

She... she did not understand him.

She did not understand anything!

 _She did not understand even how, what she felt!_

Confused, dazed, bewildered, without even realizing, she …

* * *

"Hey! This is great! Have you read, honey? Have you read these lines?"

"Adun? Do you want to know the phrase I have told you about?"

"Eh? Of course I want it!"

"Good. In this case, perhaps it would be nice to be able to get to read that sentence."

"Huh? Oh... but... but yes! Of course! Ahem, sweetie, how about to continue?"

* * *

Confused, dazed, bewildered, without even realizing, she came out with a feeble and silly: "A... a remedy, master?"

The Nameless One did not answer. He looked at her for a moment with an unreadable expression. Then, he moved suddenly.

The Princess's baffled eyes followed him.

He walked briskly toward the part of the big tent opposite the one from where the two women had entered.

The Princess saw him lift a curtain and disappear behind it.

After a few moments she saw his hand appear from behind the curtain. The hand held up back the curtain and he reappeared at her sight.

He had something in his hand. Something heaped up. It seemed of cloth.

He came close fast to the bed and stood by its side.

The blue eye watched deadpan her.

He threw on the bed the heap he held in his hand.

"Here is the remedy."

Then, abruptly, he turned and talked offering his back to the bed.

"Take it and get up, Princess. It will be easier for you to use it if you're on your feet rather than being lying in bed, but see to do it slowly and carefully. As I said, I have really not too will to see me forced to collect you up off the ground again solely for the sake of the particular use I intend to do of you."

More bewildered than ever, the Princess hesitated. She didn't move, her eyes fixed on the Nameless One's large back.

His impatient voice shook her.

"I do not hear any movement. Come on! What are you waiting for? I turned around, don't you see? I am not watching. And breathe easy. I won't turn round again while you put on the remedy. I don't love to undo what I do."

 _Put on… the remedy? He, her murderer captor, her soulless master, had brought to her something with which she could cover herself?_

The Princess did not stop to think, nor, let alone, lingered to examine the stuff that he had thrown on the bed. By moving a little noisily, to show that she was following the orders of her impatient master, a master to whom it was certainly best not to make lose the temper, she sat down on the bed. Calmly and carefully, exactly as he had ordered her to do.

And, very slowly and very carefully, she stood up once again.

Her head went back spinning a little, but stopped almost at once and she felt steady enough. Weak, very weak. With legs a little shaky. But relatively steady.

And, if by chance there had still been need to realize it, terribly thirsty and hungry.

And even in need... in need to fulfil some certain physiological necessities. Exactly as her master had said.

"Did you do?" His voice. "Are you standing? If you did it before, I do not see why you should not do it now."

She replied immediately, precipitously, without making him wait. "Yes, master. I am standing."

And again his voice. Ironic. "Naked, I guess."

The Princess replied hastily. "Yes! I am... I'm naked!"

"So, come on. Wear the remedy." His mocking laugh. "Before I change my mind."

The Princess turned her eyes to the stuff piled on the bed.

She took it. She looked at it.

She understood what it was.

She spread it, by making it hang toward the ground so that it was possible to fully recognize it for what it was.

A... a dressing gown!

A huge housecoat of soft and heavy cloth!

"So? Have you worn the remedy?

The Princess slipped hurriedly into the peignoir. Being it huge as it was, she had to roll it up, literally, around herself. Then, holding it up and closing it in some way with its long belt coiled multiple times around her waist and placing herself so that, when her master would have turned around to her he could be just facing her, she answered hastily, without ado, without bothering of how much the shoulders of the housecoat were low compared to her shoulders, of how much the hems of its sleeves hung well past her hands, practically until her ankles, and of how much it was heaped up all around her feet, enormously too long for her as it was.

"Done, master."

The Nameless One turned around without speaking.

He looked at her. His eye weighed up her appearance.

He grinned with his leonine mouth.

"I apologize, Princess. I realize that is a little big for you, but, you must know, there is no other clothing, here, if not mine. See, it's not that women, even of your size, have not already come here, but, as you may have noticed, women, here, come naked and, normally, naked they stay. Who knows, maybe your high rank has had a hand regarding you or maybe..." The Nameless One's voice seemed to hesitate, imperceptibly." ... maybe there's something else."

But immediately the voice took up back its usual harsh and biting tone. "Anyway, things are normally this way. Women, those beautiful, that's for sure, come here nude, nude they stay, and nude they leave. If they leave."

In another moment, the Princess's mind would have surely dwelt on that _'if they leave'_ and on its implications and, perhaps, even on the fact that she was granted a real privilege, since her master had procured her something to cover herself. Maybe she would have even noticed the hesitation in his speaking.

* * *

"Yeah! It is true. Such hesitation, not to mention the later words, says a lot about ..."

"Trip!"

"Oh, we, however, mustn't hesitate! Let's go on, T'Pol!"

* * *

But certainly not at that time.

Because... because...

"Master..." It cost her really a lot. It was... it was humiliating! But she had to do it. She had to ask it! "Master, I... I need..."

The beastly mouth smirked mockingly, as well as the blue eye appeared to do.

The Nameless One grabbed the Princess by the shoulder, not brutally, in truth.

He made her turn around and pushed her forward, toward the curtain behind which he had gone to take the dressing gown.

She heard his voice behind her.

"The chain will not be a hindrance." She heard him snicker. "Its length has been carefully studied for any possible eventuality."

Once in front of the curtain, he lifted it from behind her, with the hand not holding her by the shoulder, and the Princess could see what was behind the curtain.

A small space, very high, as the tent, but little extended, barely lit by a low brazier.

Inside, a kind of rough coat rack, on which various - and big - clothing were hanging. A pair of huge leather breeches; a huge jacket, it also leather. A hat, big and black. _That_ hat. A huge black cloak. _That_ cloak.

Next to the coat rack, on the ground, a pair of enormous black boots.

At a little distance from the coat rack, there was a pedestal, a sort of perch, with, above, a basin, and, next to the perch, a table, small but rather high for her, rough wooden, with above a pitcher.

And, beyond the hanger and the pedestal, on the bottom, in the farthest portion of the small space, a plank laid on the ground.

A very fragrant plank.

The Princess's sensitive nose felt distinctly the scent, strong and intense, so much as to fill the compartment and drown out, there, even the fragrance of the food behind them.

The mocking voice of the Nameless One broke off her observation.

"Here you go. Everything at your disposal. Basin, pitcher and the water in the pitcher, it too of course. Everything. Except the clothes, naturally. Everything, Princess." He smirked loudly behind her. "Everything, including the hole in the ground that is under the board."

The grin was heard again. "Be careful, though, when you will have to lift up the plank, my gracious Princess. You know, if it's impregnated with perfume, there is a reason."

With no toughness, the Nameless One pushed the Princess beyond the curtain, as his voice resounded again, sardonic and deep.

"Not really a restroom up to those ones that definitely were available for you in the dream Royal Palace, over there, on the high storybook plateau, surrounded by huge storybook forests, where I know very well that you were born and raised, but - what do you want? - that's all that I can offer you, my dear Royal Highness. This is my restroom, just as this tent, where we are, is my dream Royal Palace."

The Nameless One's voice clouded over perceptibly.

"And, believe me, my dear Princess, this tent is really a dream Royal Palace, compared to those that have been my abodes in the past. The few times when my… benevolent fate wanted to grant me a shelter where being able to stay."

The Princess took a step forward in the small space.

Almost casually, nearly unthinkingly, she found herself responding. And her voice trembled a little.

"That dream Royal Palace since long a time no longer exists. And the storybook high plateau is bare and unadorned. And the storybook forests have lost their mantle."

The voice of him echoed her words. It resounded low and severe.

Two words only. "I know."

And there was no mocking tone.

There was... something else.

As something… unsaid.

The Princess turned and looked at that face of monster, at that eye, human and... so beautiful, that was looking at her, serious. Intent.

She looked at him for a long moment.

"You know?"

The leonine head nodded gravely.

"I know everything about you, Princess, also what others do not know. The others know that your world fell apart under the mallet of fate and of the treacherous and murderous hand of Humans. The others know that you managed to escape the death that marked your family and your loved ones and friends. The others know that you became the wandering Princess, in search for a just and strong Prince, a last elven Prince, if ever there is one yet, worthy of such a name, worthy of you and of your valour, able to be _your_ Prince, the Prince of the reconquest, of the comeback, of the revival, of the restoration of your happy and enchanted world. The others know all this."

The Princess listened in a bated silence, almost in awe, to that voice, hard and harsh and yet nice, that made mercilessly flow in her mind and in her soul, the destiny, the scenes, the pain of her life. Her absurd hopes.

"But I know more, Princess. I know things about you that others can not know. I know your pains."

The Princess did not dare breathe. That voice... that voice was the voice of her destiny.

"I know what it means to wander alone, mislaid, miserable, destroyed, in heart and mind. I know what it means to be crushed under the heel of an unfair and iniquitous fate."

A bitter, low, short laughter gushed out of that cruel mouth. So beastly. And so human.

"I know. I am the Nameless One, who never had peace since birth and since before. The cruel, ruthless, monstrous, Murderer Predator. Dead since he was born."

The Princess felt overwhelmed. The pain, the bitterness, the despair without hope of those words were intolerable.

Unexpectedly, the hand of the Nameless One went up to caress, with hesitation, with shyness, the Princess's cheek.

And, caught totally unawares, boggled, in turmoil, she stood motionless to feel the faint touch of those rough and strong fingers, capable of killing simply with their bare herculean grip, that glided light and gentle on her skin.

* * *

Trip threw a glance at T'Pol that she caught perfectly.

But he said nothing and she pretended nothing.

* * *

As caught out, the hand withdrew abruptly.

And the voice resumed digging into her soul.

"I know everything about you, Princess. Only I can know. Only the wandering, elusive Nameless One can know who really is the Princess Alel, the heir to a throne that no longer exists. The wandering, elusive Princess Alel."

The Nameless One fell silent and silence reigned, while the eyes were fixed on each other.

Then, the Princess shook herself. And smiled.

Yes. She smiled. Sad and proud.

"The wandering Princess is no longer wandering. And is no longer elusive. She has found a master."

Even the leonine mouth smiled.

And it was not a contemptuous smile.

The mouth didn't open to speak, to reply.

Simply, the great leonine head quietly nodded its assent.

The Princess turned a little on herself. She motioned with the gesture and with the head to the compartment, to what was inside it.

"All this is fine for me, master. I know you know it. I've seen worse things."

Then, she turned back to the Nameless One. She smiled again. With pride.

"I thank you, Master. The Princess Alel, the Princess of the elven people is grateful to you, my lord."

She anticipated the possible reply of the Nameless One. With solemn majesty.

"Because now you, my lord, can no longer say you're not a lord. Is there perhaps any doubt, by now? I am your prey, I am your slave. Is it not so? Doesn't it mean exactly this, my chain? So then, you, my lord, are my lord. "

The Nameless One stood silent, looking intensely at the beautiful and proud visage of the Princess.

Then, finally, he broke the silence. The blue eye resumed its wry expression. The voice which was capable of being mocking and courteous at the same time spoke again, low and deep.

"And your Lord and Master, my Princess, is wondering what became of your needs. Should he assume that the mere sight of this pleasant environment has been enough to make you forget them? "

The Princess stood rooted to the spot. The disorientation, which her master, by now definitely acknowledged, knew how to instil in her, reappeared in full. And, together with the disorientation, also her by now really very little extendable... necessities.

"N... no, my lord! I have... I have to... "

"Then go." The face of human lion smirked. "Do not be afraid. I will not go with you. "

He pushed her further into the compartment, without entering it, and made go down the curtain. A tenuous cloth barrier between him and her.

Alone in the compartment, tied to the rest of the great tent only by the chain, that wobbled and jingled passing lateral to the curtain, the Princess stood firm and uncertain for a few moments. Then, her needs prevailed.

While, with circumspection and holding cautiously the nose, she was about to lift the plank off the ground, trying to prevent the long chain that held her by the neck, not to mention the enormous robe, from being able to hamper her, she heard the voice of the Nameless One from behind the curtain.

"I return to the supper table, Princess. I'll be waiting there. Take your time. All the time that your hunger may permit to you, of course."

She heard his heavy footsteps move away.

With a sigh, the Princess... set about satisfying her needs. Finally.

The voice of the Nameless One was heard again.

"Princess."

There was a tone of teasing, in the way he was calling her. It was... it was noticeable. And nevertheless to the Princess it really seemed that, neither in the way her master called her, nor in his subsequent words, there was sarcasm.

"Princess, when you come here, try not to stumble in the dressing gown. It's very long for you, and it could happen. It would be rather unbecoming for you, don't you believe, o my dignified Royal Highness?"

The Princess listened, with a strange, incomprehensible feeling inside. A feeling that was scary and... and uncannily pleasant at the same time.

And the feeling became more intense on hearing her master's further words.

"Anyway, the greatness of that robe in comparison to your size has some value, Princess. Difficult it can slip down to you, as the blanket. "

The Princess clearly heard the laughter of her master. Anything but a derisive laughter. A merry laugh.

And then he spoke again.

And the Princess felt his words sink into her.

And her hand ran, on its own volition, to her cheek, where she could still feel the searing warmth of the soft touch of his fingers.

"If such a thing were to happen, Princess, I might be led to believe you're doing it on purpose."

And then he laughed again. Cheerfully. For real.

And spoke one more time. Cheerfully. For real.

And yet... also wistfully.

And, as his words penetrated deep down inside her, the Princess, her hand still on her cheek, felt a quiver within, into her heart. A mysterious trembling. Disquieting and... sweet.

* * *

T'Pol stopped. She let Trip read on his own account the words.

The last phrase of the Nameless One.

On the impetus of what they had just read, Trip did not even notice that T'Pol had stopped to read and that was watching him, on hold.

Trip did read the phrase. In a low voice.

He stood silent and still for a few moments. Then, he raised his eyes to T'Pol.

Two wide-open and amazed eyes.

"T'Pol! This sentence! This sentence…"

"It makes you think of something, Adun?"

His mind got filled up with a vision. A wonderful vision. The vision of his T'Pol, who, on that marvellous distant night...

He lowered his eyes on the PADD.

He re-read the last words of the Nameless One. His last sentence.

Aloud.

While T'Pol listened and snuggled up to him.

* * *

"And, in all honesty, Princess, I must say that I would not mind at all, I mean the sight of you while you open your robe in front of me and then let it slide to the ground for the joy of my eye. For… my joy."

* * *

 _ **End of Chapter Eighteen**_

 _ **TBC**_

 **ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo**

 **ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo**

 _Mysterious is the human soul._

 _Mysterious is the elven soul._

 _Mysterious is love._


	19. The Ears of the Elves - Chapter 19

**The Ears of the Elves**

 **By Asso**

 **Chapter Nineteen**

* * *

 _Where it comes to dressing gowns, of grudge and of the force of love._

* * *

 **The Ears of the Elves**

 **Chapter Nineteen**

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

"An echo of the future."

T'Pol was left confused for a moment, then she realized.

She clung tightly to Trip even more. Vulcan, of course, this she was, there can be no doubt about. But not even there can be any doubt about the way her voice sounded.

Dreamy.

Such, it sounded.

Even with that single word. The only one she said.

That she whispered.

"Yes."

Trip clenched his arms around her. He rested his chin on her head, buried in his neck.

And she continued to dream at the sound of his voice.

"One day the Nameless One's strange dream, his forbidden dream, as forbidden as it was mine, T'Pol, a dream he could not even dream to dream, would come true. One far in time day, immensely far, hidden into the folds of a future he could not even dream to dream."

T'Pol closed her eyes, blissfully lost in the dream of Trip's embrace, and her voice was woven with the fabric of dreams. "Another T'Pol, the one yours, Adun, _your_ T'Pol, would one day make come true his dream."

Trip took to stroke her silky hair with his chin. "My T'Pol would make slip down to the ground that robe."

"In front of the one who would be him. The man he would become."

Trip sighed, with such an intensity that it seemed almost resound painful. "In front of me."

T'Pol untangled herself from his embrace, pulled herself up a little to be able to look at him in the face. _To make sure that he could look at her in the face_. "In front of you, yes, Ashal-veh. In front of you." She was silent a moment. "To have you."

Trip didn't say anything. His fingers rose to caress the lips of T'Pol. They stopped, almost shameful. They took courage. They alighted slight, almost bashfully, on those lips, so beautiful.

Those lips kissed softly those fingers, so beloved.

Trip shut his eyes. His voice was a whisper. "For my joy."

T'Pol kissed his fingers yet. "For mine, K'diwa."

And then she sank in his arms, the PADD abandoned in her lap.

Trip's voice broke the spell.

It was pensive, that voice. Was... glum. "The Nameless One will not have this joy, eh T'Pol?"

T'Pol said nothing, enfolded in Trip's hug. She felt his fingers plunge into her hair.

"Who is ever he, to be able to dream of having such a joy? Who, eh, Hon?" The note of mournfulness grew more intense. "He is the monster he is. And how can a monster like him dream to dream?"

Then, Trip's voice exploded. It became almost rabid. "Blood and death! This only he can dream! And only dreams of blood and death can come true for him!"

T'Pol pulled herself up. She watched intensely Trip. "He is learning, Trip." T'Pol's hand rose up to caress Trip's face. "Laboriously. Even angrily. But he's doing it."

T'Pol's lips drew near to those of Trip, brushed them gently. "He is learning that one can dream different dreams."

Trip stood silent, watching T'Pol, his eyes filled with rage. Then... the anger... anger against himself, against the himself that was the Nameless One... vanished.

He nodded. He took T'Pol's hand, squeezed it. "Yes, sure. You're right, hon. The Princess, his..." His gaze wrapped T'Pol with such warmth that T'Pol thanked not to be standing, because for sure her legs would have betrayed her. "... _his_ T'Pol started to make him dream... for real."

Trip's voice seemed to crack. "As you have done with me, T'Pol, my love. You have turned into reality my forbidden dream. My dream... my dream... my one true dream. _You_ , T'Pol."

And at that moment T'Pol was certain. If it had been necessary for her to get up, her legs would refuse to do so. And, indeed, it was quite understandable. How could her heart be able to pump enough blood to the muscles of her legs, with all the blood it needed to throb as tumultuously as it was doing?

So she understood she had no alternative. She dived again into Trip's arms.

Then, once again, Trip's voice broke the enchantment. Sorrowful, yet again, and yet, somehow, with a note... as some sort of unexpressed expectation. One might say... of hope.

"But as for the Nameless One, his forbidden dream won't become reality, is it? He... won't have this joy."

T'Pol felt she had to reply. She hadn't to betray that unexpressed hope. She, who had realized, now. Now. After all she and Trip had told each other.

But she couldn't speak. The rueful voice of Trip prevented her from doing it.

"And, indeed, how could it be otherwise? How might a monster like him experience the joy of a woman who gives herself spontaneously to him? He knows only violence and only through violence he can have love. A love with no joy." Trip sighed sadly. "A love... of no value."

There was a short instant of heavy silence, then Trip shook his head. "Never that robe will open for him."

And at this point T'Pol burst out. Just like that. The sadness of Trip's words was too much! Not that he wasn't right, but, somehow, he was wrong, although, in fact, he was right. But he was also wrong. Oh really! It was not here the essence of the problem, although T'Pol at that moment hadn't certainly clear this in her mind. Simply... simply it was that the fact that just he - he, who had been able to make her understand the reality of things and always knew how to deal with situations and how to find something good even in the worst things; he, who knew how to find a glimmer of light even into the deepest darkness - was now letting himself be carried away by disheartenment... this... well, this irritated her profoundly. Even more than when he enjoyed in making fun of her.

She could not bear the idea that her Adun could despise the Nameless One to such an extent! Sure, that monster was to be abhorred! Of course! Despite all the justifications he could have. And yet… oh well! In the end, the Nameless One was him, her Ashal-veh! Maybe... yes... maybe even only… only, just to use his suggestive image, the pale echo of what he would be one day, by turning into her beloved Adun. But, ultimately, the Nameless One was him, her K'diwa! And, whether right or wrong or right and wrong together he could be, her Ashal-veh could not - did not have to! - despise himself!

This was intolerable for her!

Was... unacceptable!

She extricated herself impetuously from his arms, impetuously stood up and impetuously planted herself legs apart in front of him, hands on her hips, the PADD nervously held in one of them, and with angry eyes fixed on him.

She wasted no time. She said it. Peevishly. Heedless of his gaze, surprised and confused.

"And instead that dressing gown will open!"

"H...huh?"

"I said..."

"I've understood. But maybe I've not."

"That robe will open. And will fall to the ground."

"Oh? And how? Our nameless friend will tear the robe away from the Princess and then will hurl it to the ground instead than to the bed as he did before?"

"No."

"No?'"

"No."

"Ah." Trip stood up in turn and he too planted himself legs apart in front of T'Pol, with his hands on his hips. "And how will it happen, pray? You're not gonna tell me that it will be the Princess to do it?"

T'Pol nodded fiercely. "Just like that."

Trip made a step forward and, with his hands still on his hips just in the way T'Pol was continuing to do, he fiercely pointed his eyes on those of her, who fiercely reciprocated his gaze.

"Sweetness of my heart, I think you should try to come to an agreement with yourself. You have told me just now that it was necessary to wait another T'Pol - this one here, to be precise - in order that the miracle of the fall of the walls of Jericho, of the robe, could be accomplished. But now you're telling me that that other T'Pol, the Princess, has already taken steps to perform the miracle. You must make up your mind, treasure of my soul. Did she do it or didn't?"

T'Pol also stepped forward and brought her face close to that of Trip, not more than an inch from his, still watching him from below, from her definitely smaller height, with that ferocious gaze. Fortunately eyes can fulminate only metaphorically.

"She did it, but she did it with different intentions."

And, just said this, T'Pol feel clearly that the tips of her ears started to veer toward a colour intensity even more pronounced than that she knew that her impossible Adun had certainly caused to her, with his irritating attitude.

Eh sure. Because the intentions of which she spoke, _her_ intentions when she had opened her robe and had made it slid to the ground in front of him, definitely were not at all… _chaste_ intentions. And, a little ashamed for having yielded so blatantly, so theatrically and completely, to her deep cravings, to her wishes, so long repressed, to the attraction she felt for him... well... a little ashamed for this, she still felt.

Understandable, of course. With a single gesture, in an instant, she had literally burnt her vulcan being, had erased the image of the cold and rocky vulcan female that she was in the eyes of all and especially in his eyes, the eyes of him.

Oh, just to clear the field of any possible misunderstanding! She did not regret in the least to have done that gesture. She was not crazy! She had already been crazy enough - pityingly wanting to lay to rest her scandalous subsequent swaying - when, the next morning, she had foolishly tried to find for him, and herself, a… a sufficiently vulcan justification for her behaviour.

Crazy! And idiot! And luckily that he, her immensurable Adun, had taken on his shoulders the problem! And had found a way to solve it, without plunging her into the abyss of shame, giving her a way out!

Oh no, she wasn't crazy to such an extent. Her happiness arose from her surrender! From that gesture! From… she had understood very well Trip's allusion… from her making fall down the walls of Jericho! As that actress... what was her name?... ah yes, Claudette Colbert... had done in the movie that so many times she and her Adun had seen together in the privacy of their apartments. _'It Happened One Night'_. A... a great movie! So significant for... for both of them!

But, despite everything, she could not help but feel embarrassed and, more so, because, almost without thinking, pushed by her T'Haila's annoying approach, she had made very clear the intentions that she had had by opening her robe and letting it slip to the ground in front of him.

Not that her intentions were not clear enough already... but... well... saying it so, in that way... highlighting it so, in that way... even after such a long time...

There was more than enough to understand why the tips of her ears were beginning to burn considerably. Wanting to pass over in silence the not exactly negligible influence of her irritation for not being able to control herself.

Damned Adun!

Damned Adun, who, however, did not seem to notice the change in colour of her ears, or, if he had noticed, did not let it leak out.

Most likely because... and she already knew this... because he was taking pleasure in their discussion.

And because he rejoiced in making colourful the tips of her ears!

Not to mention her whole visage!

 _Damned_ _Adun!_

But if that was what was needed in order to make him return to be what he was... well then...she was willing to become all red... mh, green... with shame!

And actually so it happened. Both for Trip's return to being himself and, substantially, also for T'Pol's skin colour change. Ears on the whole, jowls. Et cetera.

And T'Pol, while aware, was so engulfed in their squabble that for her it became more important exactly their spat. It became essential for her, in other words, replying to his annoying question, delivered with a sly smile on his lips - "Different? Different in what sense, my sweetie?" - by fighting fire with fire.

But it was not easy. Oh no. Absolutely not. And she failed. Miserably.

"She did not it to... to..."

"To seduce the Nameless One, just like you did with me?"

 _Damn his damn sly and pleased smirk!_

"N... no! Namely... yes. Mh... no. Or rather... yes. Yes and not."

"T'Pol, what are you stammering?"

"She... she did it because..."

And then, Trip's face grew dark. "Because the Nameless One put into effect his blackmail? Whatever it is? But in this case, why do you say – or you not say - that the Princess did it to seduce him? Unless… T'Pol, do you mean, by chance, that the Princess used her beauty to deceive her likeable master? That she gave him herself for ulterior motives? That she used her loveliness and the undoubted attraction that he felt for her to... to put him in line? To get the better of him not by using a strength that she had not, but by resorting to her pulchritude?"

"No! Absolutely not! Absolutely not for these reasons! But... but not even because of the blackmail of the Nameless One. Not in order to let her open her robe he will use his blackmail. What significance could ever have this for him? His dream, the dream that he can not even dream of, as you say, Adun, is that the robe may fall spontaneously, by the will of the Princess, not as a result of whatever coercion. The point is… the real point, Adun… is that, I repeat, the Princess's intentions are different... are different from mine. In... in appearance, at least."

Trip looked at T'Pol with a bewildered air. "But... but T'Pol! I... I do not understand anything anymore!"

T'Pol's face softened. She took Trip's hand.

"Neither did I, when I read the fairy tale alone. But now, after I spoke with you, I think I understand a little more. But ..." She sighed. "... but I do not understand well yet."

Her lips curled into a slight smile. Nice and sweet. "Do you want to help me to understand better, Adun?"

Trip was silent a moment. Then he squeezed T'Pol's hand.

He too smiled.

Without a word, he turned and went back to the sofa, drawing her in tow.

He sat down and pulled T'Pol down to sit beside him.

He watched her.

He smiled at her again.

"Let's figure out together, darling."

* * *

"Feeling better, Princess? Have the basic physiological needs sufficiently been silenced?"

The Princess stopped her steps.

He was there, standing, motionless, his back turned to her, next to the laid table.

Her pace had been light, and the chain had tinkled rather faintly, not more than when she was satisfying… her needs, but he had immediately perceived her presence.

She swallowed.

"Y... yes, master. I'm better now."

He laughed softly. "I am pleased that the robe has not hindered your steps. But, after all, it was to be expected. A true princess, as you are, knows very well how to get out of trouble. Always and in every case."

The ironic chuckle peeped out again. "Mh. Maybe better to say _almost_ always."

The Princess swallowed again and stood silent, shivering, and surely not for the cold, into the heavy robe.

"So, Princess? Do you tell me nothing? Am I mistaken or I am not?"

The Princess hastened to answer.

"No, master! You're not mistaken at all!"

"About what? About the fact that a true princess always knows how to pull herself out of trouble, or that it would be more correct to say almost always?"

"About... about both, master."

"Ah, but this can not be. For the contradiction that does not allow it. Or the one or the other thing. Logic has its own laws."

* * *

T'Pol preferred to ignore the teasing glance that Trip shot her.

* * *

"Don't you agree, Princess? Oh, I think so. Elves are so intelligent and cultured! And an Elvish Princess like it's you, indeed the only true Elvish Princess that's you, certainly can't be unaware of the laws of logic, of its rules; laws, rules, that can't be infringed. Never."

Abruptly a short sarcastic laugh shrugged the massive shoulders of the Nameless One.

"Mh, maybe _'never'_ is a word a little too strong. Every rule has its exceptions, even the rules of logic. Actually, one must recognize that the weird nature has violated logic's laws, its iron rules, when she decided the birth of a monster like me and..."

While speaking, the Nameless One turned.

And his mocking talking froze in his throat.

His eye rested on the Princess.

On her small figure, all wrapped up in the enormous robe.

On her face, the only thing of her emerging from the dressing gown.

Pale. Anxious. Fearful.

Beautiful .

On her eyes.

Large. Emerald green. Agleam.

Uncertain.

Beautiful.

On her long hair.

Blond. Silky. Shining like gold.

Falling dishevelled on the shoulders of her robe.

Playing with her long pointed ears. Still adorned with her glittering dangling earrings.

Delicate.

Beautiful.

Framing her soft features. Unquiet. Unsure.

Velvety.

Beautiful.

The blue eye rested on her tiny nose. With the tip turned a little upward.

Saucy.

Beautiful.

It rested on her lips. Slightly open in the anxiety. A little trembling.

Red. Fleshy. Succulent.

Beautiful.

And then the eye rested again on her visage. In its entirety.

Explored its perfect oval.

In all its gorgeous, ravishing... beauty.

The lips of beast and man parted, almost with effort. Almost with effort, they gave road to the words struggling to get out, to be pronounced by their own volition.

Low and hoarse, nearly as if ashamed of making themselves heard, the words rolled, amazed of themselves, pensive, between the Nameless One and the Princess, in the short space separating them.

"….and of a beauty such as yours."

The Princess stood speechless.

All she could do it was to swallow again.

But this time not for fear or for the uncertainty of her fate.

This time for the tremor that shook her heart, for the unavowable warmth she felt within.

In seeing that blue eye that was looking at her neither with mockery nor with arrogant possessiveness.

Only… with rapt amazement.

* * *

"Come on, Princess! He is in your hands, do not you see?"

T'Pol could not help but smile.

* * *

It was the Princess who broke the silence. In a low and uncertain voice.

"Master..."

She didn't finish what she was going to say. She was prevented from doing it. By that eye.

It became animated, acquired life. And the Princess closed abruptly her mouth.

The Nameless One straightened in all its imposing stature.

He spoke. With studied preciosity.

"I beg your forgiveness, Princess. No need to say more. Now it's up ... "The leonine mouth smirked."...to your stomach."

The Nameless One moved. He approached the Princess, took her by the elbow, gently, and gently he pushed her towards the table and brought her to one of the two chairs placed in front of it, each one at one of its ends.

He left her elbow and approached the chair.

He shifted it to make room to her, to allow her to sit down.

He beckoned at her with a nod of his head.

The Princess, albeit uncertain, obeyed immediately. She came close to the chair and sat down, while watching unsure her master.

The Nameless One moved again. He went at her back and, standing behind her, who did not dare turn around on the seat to see what he was doing, took with both his hands the seatback of the chair and, carefully, pushed it, together with the Princess sitting on it, a little forward, more under the table, positioning it so that she could stay comfortable and eat and drink with ease.

Then he moved once again.

He put himself by her side.

The Princess turned her head and lifted it up to look him in the face.

It seemed to her... but it was not possible... that a slight smile, _a true smile_ , hovered on his lips.

But that mouth of lion in human form could not smile.

It could smirk; could sneer; could growl; could roar.

But... smile... smile for real...

Could it do it?

The big hand of her master moved. The real one. That of flesh.

It grabbed her chain.

It shifted it, so that it could fall back, behind her, that it couldn't be an impediment for her while she was taking refreshment.

The leonine head nodded slightly, like to approve what the hand had done.

Then the hand moved again, grabbed a bottle, lifted it up and tilted it pouring the liquid contained in it in the stem glass in front of the Princess. An amber-coloured liquid, intensely scented.

The Nameless One put down the bottle and went back to move.

The eyes of the Princess followed him as he turned around the table, reached the chair opposite her, sat in turn on it.

At the other end of the not big table, the Nameless One took the bottle again with his long, oversized, muscular arm and poured for himself, in the chalice in front of him, a generous amount of the same liquid.

He put back down the bottle and raised his stem glass, watching her. He motioned to her with his head, shaking slightly the stemware and pointing to the laid table with the other hand, the one that had not life.

His voice rose, peremptory and yet courteous. Vaguely... only vaguely... ironic.

Or maybe... maybe smiling, if ever a voice can smile... like... like that monstrous mouth that could not smile?

Like that blue eye. That eye, so hard; so piercing.

So human.

So beautiful.

"Now drink, Princess. Raise your chalice. Make a toast together with me to your health, that you're about to recover completely. And to our..." The eye twinkled slyly. "… sodality.

The leonine head nodded, as if to underline what the leonine mouth was saying.

"Drink, Princess. And eat. Take your refreshment. Restore your energies. Restore…"

The eye shone mischievously. Mischievously, not malignantly. The Princess could not be quite sure, but it seemed to her it to be just so. And the mouth, that beastly mouth, in some way smiled really. A true smile.

"Restore your strength."

* * *

"And here we go again!"

T'Pol glanced up from the PADD.

"But the Nameless One's mouth smiled, Trip. It did for real. And his eye didn't shine malignantly, in the Princess's perception."

Trip looked at T'Pol, who stood watching him with serious eyes. And softly reproaching.

He nodded.

He gave her a smile a little strained.

"Yeah. They did."

He took a faint sigh, as his face went back to being stern and tense.

"Let's go on, T'Pol."

* * *

The Princess took her stem glass, lifted it up, watching from behind its rim the Nameless One's face, who, with his chalice raised in his big hand, was watching her attentively, with a light of amusement in his blue eye.

The Princess sighed, then, with an almost imperceptible shrug of her shoulders, she brought aloft the chalice. She held out it towards the Nameless One.

"Let's drink, my lord and my master. To what you want. A slave can't but obey her master."

And she drank.

Closing her eyes.

A long sip.

The seal of her slavery.

The fragrant and amber liquid flooded her throat.

It was good and fresh.

And strong.

It made her cough.

It made her eyes water.

Goggled-eyed, the Princess put down the chalice carefully in front of her on the table.

The laughter of the Nameless One shook her.

She turned her eyes to him. She saw him grin at the other end of the table, with his cup in hand.

"A wee bit strong, is not it, Princess? I am aware. Indeed, it is not a drink for everyone."

So saying, he took his chalice to his lips and drank in turn, showing, in truth, a certain difficulty.

It wasn't supposed certainly to be easy to do, that simple gesture, for the mouth of a beast.

But he did, and drank his entire chalice in one gulp.

Then, slowly, he too put down it on the table in front of him and raised again his eye toward the Princess.

"No, it is not a drink for everyone." The mouth grinned again. "But what I could have seen of you lets me assume that it is certainly for you."

Then, the leonine face became serious. "Now, enough with the procrastinations, Princess. Every ritual has been brought into being. It's time for you to eat."

At those words, The Princess laid her eyes on the food, again aware of it.

Fragrant, abundant, appetizing.

Hunger, tyrant, imposed its law.

She pounced on the food.

For a while, she ate voraciously and drank greedily, not that drink of course, in silence, oblivious of the Nameless One, who was watching her, he too silently.

Then, once appeased the pangs of hunger and the craving for drink, the Princess continued to eat more calmly, and turned back her gaze to the Nameless One.

"You do not eat, master?"

"Oh, I realize that it's not polite on my part not to keep you company, Princess, but I have already had dinner and, although my body, not exactly undersized, requires a fair amount of nourishment, I do not feel desire for food at the moment. Please forgive me. On the other hand, as I've already told you, all this is for you. "

The Nameless One grinned again.

"I hope it's enough to allow you to completely recover your strength."

The face of the Princess stiffened.

"Enough to allow me to put up a futile resistance to the use you want to do of me, master?"

The leonine mouth widened into a frank laugh.

"Ah well, I see that it's working. You're retaking full your boldness, Princess."

The Princess left on the plate the fruit she was eating.

Suddenly, hunger, moreover already abundantly assuaged, disappeared altogether.

She lowered her eyes for a moment, then raised a look of doe toward the master of her life.

And of her honour.

With fatigue, with fear, too, but with firmness, she finally dared to ask.

"What will you do of me, my lord and my master? I mean, besides that… special use, what else do I have to expect? How else do you want to take revenge on me for what my brothers of race have done to you? Or, just, I'll be your sex toy so long as this will please you? And then you will get rid of me, letting me die in torments? Or is it a destiny of endless pain and hopeless, the one that awaits me, when you will get tired of me?"

Unexpectedly, it was not a wrathful reaction the one that came from the Nameless One.

It was another laugh.

And not a laugh of derision.

"Oh, Princess! I really do not think it is possible to get tired of you!"

And there was sincerity in those words.

And, with shame, without being able to do anything to prevent it, the Princess flushed.

With pleasure.

What was ever happening to her?

 _What was ever happening to her?_

She lowered her face, trying to hide her embarrassment. Her blush, which inflamed her cheeks.

"You, Princess, won't be the target on which I'll vent my revenge. You're the means by which I'll wreak revenge of your race."

The Princess suddenly lifted her face at those harsh words.

She looked with wide eyes that beastly face, now hard and grim.

She tried to ask, in a faint voice. "I will be the means...?"

But the Nameless One slew her question in her throat.

He raised a hand imperiously, silencing her.

He bowed his head for a moment as to want to think about what he was going to say.

Then, he raised his monstrous face.

And he spoke.

"If Nature and Humans had not been nice to me, your brothers of breed decided that it was not good thing for the Elves to lag behind. You know, matter of racial superiority."

He paused, as if it cost him a lot talking and it were of well little help the bitter sarcasm with which he tried to cover the oppression he had within.

An oppression that the Princess could feel in all its depth.

That oppressed even her.

His huge chest heaved in a deep breath.

"About the arm, I have already told you, Princess. And I have already told you about the way, not exactly pleasant, with which your blood brothers decided it was appropriate for me to free myself of it."

The leonine mouth let out a bitter grin. "Undoubtedly, they wanted mercifully to make me free from a serious and dangerous source of suffering and the matter was too urgent to get lost behind futile attempts to soothe the pain that such a compassionate liberation could be able to cause to me. And then - who knows? - perhaps even a certain yearning for knowledge. Elves are well known for their intellectual curiosity. Interesting, they must have thought, to know if a child, because such I still was at that time, _a so peculiar child_ , would be able to survive such an act of mercy."

The Nameless One stopped talking again and slowly stood up.

With slow steps, he approached the Princess and stopped beside her.

He stared at her.

Her eyes didn't detach themselves from his. Abandoned on the table, her hands began to tremble imperceptibly.

"I survived, Princess. For the delight of my rescuers, I survived."

The trembling voice of the Princess rose, weak and uncertain.

"For the delight?"

"For the delight, Princess. For the delight. In the literal sense of the term." The Nameless One grinned sarcastically. "I was what was missing to them, to their king, to their queen, in order to really feel on a par with the most refulgent royal courts. I do not say like yours, I mean, that of your deceased parents, but, all in all..." The Nameless One's expression became harder than granite. "There was need of a jester."

"A…"

"A jester, sure, my Princess. A jester to bring up and train for their delight."

"But…"

"Oh, but, my sweet Princess, does it seem strange to you? Yet, think carefully. A child, most likely human, but with the face of a beast. With the monstrous visage covered with scars, to make it even more ridiculous. Rather big, but not more than that much. And also skinny, to tell the truth... let's say... not very well fed. Able to express himself pretty bad. You know, one can not say he had been followed very well, in regard to his education. Decidedly funny, in a nutshell. And now, even without an arm. More freak of nature than so, one dies. Oh yeah. Really a perfect jester."

"But ... but ... what species of Elves...?"

"What species of Elves may ever think to act like this? This is what you want to say, Princess?"

"Y ... yes."

"What about the Elves of the night?"

The eyes of the Princess got filled with horror.

"The Elves of..."

"The Elves of the night, yes." The Nameless One smirked. "Shortly nice, aren't they? It is said they had even been reluctant to accept the authority of your lineage, the oldest and noblest of the entire history of your people, Princess. Anyway, not precisely amiable, one must say. And rather defiladed. They do not like having to deal with their brighter blood brothers. And the tribe, then, the so-called kingdom of Night Elves where I found myself being, was definitely out-of-the-way. It lived on the edge of your great kingdom, Princess, at the very ends of the north. And I might say that its barbarity was..." - The monstrous face sneered mischievously - "...I emphasize the verbal tense... not inferior to that of the tribe of Humans where I have had the good fortune to be born."

"But... but the Night Elves are not the race of Elves in its entire reality! And not all Night Elves are like those in whose hands you fell, master! Why..."

"Why am I so insanely rancorous against all of the Elves, and not just against a part of them, as well as against all Humans and against my sweet friend, mother nature?"

"Yes. Yes! Why!?"

The Nameless One straightened in his entire impressive tall. His eye seemed to get lost into an infinite distance.

He did not look at the Princess, as his voice rose, cavernous.

"I have seen how you have gutted those men, Princess. I know you. I've already told you. And I know the history of Elves. It is not different from that of Humans. Your realm, the realm of your ancestors, arose from the blood and in the blood, as the realms of men. And from streams of shed blood you come. Like me."

His gaze descended, gloomy, upon the Princess.

"There is no difference between Humans and Elves, whether they are Bright Elves as you are, whether they are dark as the Night Elves."

He smirked bleakly.

"It's just a matter of ears."

* * *

"Damn! Really the task facing the Princess is terrible! Having get the better of such a grudge against the whole world is a desperate undertaking!"

T'Pol smiled. She smiled without ifs and buts.

"But you, Ashal-veh, have taught me that there is a force mightier than any grudge. A force able to bend to its will the whole universe"

Trip looked at T'Pol with a face, with a look, which she would never forget. Never would she forget the heavenly light that she saw shine in his eyes at her words.

"You mean the force of love, T'Pol?"

"Yes, Adun."

One moment. Only a moment. A brief moment of stunned bliss.

Then Trip wanted to teach again T'Pol the might of the force of love.

And she showed him how much she had already well learned.

* * *

 _ **End of Chapter Nineteen**_

 _ **TBC**_

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

 _"I would like to know something more about that dressing gown!"_

 _"And the blackmail? If it is of no use to make open the dressing gown, well, then to what use is it?"_

 _"And..."_

 _Oh, I feel as if I could hear you, my friends!_

 _I understand. You, all of you, are right._

 _A little patience and the secrets of the robe… will open for you._

 _But continue to follow this story, please; otherwise, how might you find out about them?_

 _And this is my personal blackmail._


	20. The Ears of the Elves - Chapter 20

**The Ears of the Elves**

 **By Asso**

 **Chapter Twenty**

* * *

 _I know, I know, my friends. You were waiting for me to reveal "the secrets of the robe."_

 _But, what do you want? Trip and T'Pol have claimed their space here._

 _And they are stronger than me._

 _But fear not._

 _These "secrets" will be revealed soon._

* * *

 **The Ears of the Elves**

 **Chapter Twenty**

 **OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO**

"It was supposed that, _'before'_ , we should have had to solve the riddle of the fable."

With closed eyes, T'Pol stretched herself out rather sensuously into Trip's arms. Without opening her eyes and mumbling unintelligibly with closed lips, she pondered for a moment if she should proceed with covering herself up at least a little, to tell the truth rather lamely, not to say listlessly, almost as an automatic conditioned reflex. Then she decided that it was much more pleasant to keep on staying stark naked in the circle of his arms, wearing just them and their warmth.

She opened just an eye, lifting lazily the eyelid, and arched the related eyebrow, watching him with a seraphic expression.

"It was supposed to be so, but _'someone'_ decided to... mh... to set fire to the powders."

Trip chuckled into her ear. "Ah, so it would be my fault?" And, right after, he nipped its tip, causing a delightful frisson in T'Pol, who abruptly lowered eyelid and eyebrow and resumed to keep hermetically closed both her eyes, brazenly abandoning herself in the pleasure of his gnawing with a shameless, voluptuous, long sigh.

Well away even from the mere idea of opening her eyes and equally well careful not to make ill-considered movements, even slight, that could be of harm to her extremely satisfactory position, she retorted in a low voice and with quiet casualness, as if she were simply stating a logical assumption, valid and well-grounded per se. By definition.

"It's always your fault."

"What?"

T'Pol opened again idly her eye and looked at Trip with studied seriousness.

"Would you perhaps deny having treacherously enmeshed me ever since our first encounter? At San Francisco airport? Even without you being even aware of my presence? Basely taking advantage of the seductive power of your smell?" **(^)**

"Huh?"

"And having consistently and virulently forced me to think of you and... of everything I would have liked you to do with me, in spite of my will not to think of you and of everything I would have liked you to do with me?" **(^)**

"Huh? But ..."

"And having fraudulently and slyly induced me to seduce you, indecorously, in spite of any good rule of vulcan and human decency?"

"W… what?!"

"And having led me to think it was even possible to break the sacred rules of the vulcan marriage taken out by me with my regular betrothed, just to continue to secretly have your... attentions?"

"Huh? B... but…"

"And having stubbornly and adamantly persecuted me in my secret thoughts, in spite of my decision to devote myself entirely to the rediscovery of my true vulcan roots with the study of the writings of Surak?"

"Oh! But I…"

"And having cravenly left me alone on _Enterprise_ , to consume myself in my constant yearning for you?"

"Ah… oh… I…"

"And having despicably made leap my heart in my chest at seeing you slip along that subtle wire suspended in nothingness to come to save _Enterprise_ and… _me_?"

"Eh? But I…"

"And having made me die of anguish at seeing you lose your grip?"

"Huh? You didn't seem to me..."

"Another of your faults. You didn't even notice the anguish that you had me feel."

"Oh but… T'Pol!"

"As if it had not already been enough the anguish you had me feel when you were about to die for the outbreak of the engines and, to fill the measure, also on another time, for the deadly virosis that had infected you and Oshi."

"But T'Pol! Sweetheart! I..."

"And I spare you, because at the very thought I feel… I feel like dying, the anguish…" And here, T'Pol's voice cracked and her eye closed. "… the anguish that you had me feel when we... when we found you in that... in that state. And the anguish you had me go through afterwards, all the time you've been struggling between life and death." **(^^) (^^^)**

"Oh T'Pol!"

"But…" And here, T'Pol's eye came open again as well as her eyebrow rose one more time. "…leaving aside this particular circumstance and also the anguish that, once again, you have forced me to suffer with your latest exploits incidental to the King ... " **(^^^)**

"What? But... but... but T'Pol!"

"...and returning to your… "And here, T'Pol's voice gained force and also the other eye came open to keep company to the first, both of them manifesting her total reproof, as her eyebrow kept on staying raised definitely reproachfully. "…guilty behaviour, when you enjoyed playing the hero to save _Enterprise_ and me..."

"I enjoyed playing the hero?"

"…would you perhaps deny being surreptitiously penetrated so deeply inside me up to the point of pushing me, when finally you came back safe and sound to me, to kiss you in full light, oblivious of the public place where we were and of the indecorum and the dangerousness of such a gesture?"

"Hey! But T'P..."

"Purposely and deceptively letting me believe to be on the verge of losing you another and definitive time?"

"Well! Y… yes, but..."

"Dragging me to say blatantly to you that I wanted you back with me?"

"O… okay, but..."

"In practise to ask you, and with facts even more than with words, to be definitely mine?"

"Huh? Well..."

"And to make _me_ definitely yours?"

"H…uh?"

"In defiance of all my vulcan pride?"

"Huh? Oh, but... but…"

T'Pol raised also her other eyebrow, as her reproving expression was growing definitely more accentuated, but without changing her position, leaving discretely aside the fact that she curled up a little more into Trip's arms.

"Would you dare deny all these faults on your part, my _dear_ husband?"

"But... but... but... T'Pol!"

T'Pol's eyebrows went down, not too much, to say the truth, especially for one of them, as she kept on staring at Trip with a look that had turned definitely accusatory. But also as she snuggled up to him in a decidedly tangible manner.

"Would you dare deny being guilty of having led me to be crazy about you to such an extent, my _dearest_ husband?"

For a few moments Trip was too busy in the undertaking to close his mouth to be able to say something. Then, finally, despite some ominous creaking of the temporo-mandibular joints, he made it.

He managed to respond.

First with the eyes. That laughed.

Then with the arms. Which clasped strongly T'Pol.

Then with the mouth. That laughed even more than the eyes.

And finally with the voice. Which spoke laughing.

"Unconditional surrender, T'Pol! Unconditional surrender! I admit all my faults!"

T'Pol nodded with placid appeasement. "Very good. On the other hand, logic couldn't admit other options."

And, this stated, she closed her eyes again and huddled if possible even more against Trip. Head, shoulders, arms, torso, pelvis, thighs, legs, feet. All of it.

Then, comfortably positioned in this way, her eyelids quietly lowered on her composed visage, she proceeded to affix the final seal.

"So, husband, on account of the previous occurrences, it is quite clear that it is your fault also in the case of the just passed contingency."

Trip replied with conviction. "Obvious. Logical."

"And it is to be believed, with sure informed basis, that the same will be for any future evenience."

Trip's head nodded vigorously, going to stop with its chin against the crown of that of T'Pol, practically entombed in his neck. "More than obvious. More than logical."

He felt her cheek rub against his skin, while even her head was moving, nodding again.

"A very satisfactory attainment of commonality of ideas, husband."

And with that, T'Pol fell silent, at last.

The same did Trip. But after a few moments he raised a hand and tapped lightly with its knuckles on the head of T'Pol.

"Hey, sweetie! Okay, okay. All true, all flawless. _As logic dictates._ But, if you allow me, not that the powders to which I have given fire took much to burst into flame, after all. Neither now nor before. And - I am pretty sure I am not mistaken - not even in future."

T'Pol's voice rang out with a noticeable shade of bored impatience, as if to say that she was rather tired of having to keep repeating over and over the same things.

"Do you remember by chance, my Husband and Lord, that small, insignificant detail relating to the obedience that a Vulcan wife owes to her husband?"

And she did not budge one only millimetre from her position in saying that.

"Ah, understood. A trivial matter of due obedience, is not it?"

"In effect."

"And... nothing more?"

T'Pol pressed herself blissfully against Trip, into his arms. She made of herself, literally, a sort of ball of warm and palpitating flesh all on top of him.

"Of course, a vulcan female can be more or less glad to obey her husband."

"And... in your case?"

"Let's say that, in my case, obeying is not without pleasantness."

"Let's say so?"

T'Pol opened her eyes and lifted her head a little. Not much. Just enough to allow him to see the light that she knew that was shining in her gaze. A pale glare of the light that shone in her heart.

"Let's say so."

Trip did something that was halfway between a smirk and a real smile.

T'Pol raised back her eyebrow just an instant and then lowered her head to his neck, her eyes closed peacefully again.

But she opened them again abruptly at the vigorous sound of his voice.

And with good reasons.

And it can not be said that there wasn't a thin vein of dazed awe in them.

Fully justified, in truth.

"Well, well, well. We will have the way to further test your propensity to comply with the vulcan rules of the womanly marital obedience farther ahead in the course of the evening, my dear, submissive vulcan wife."

At these words, T'Pol untangled impetuously herself from Trip's arms and straightened quickly to sit on the sofa, crouching down over her solid and shapely backside, with the legs bent beneath it, just next to him, at his side.

And fully naked. This has to be recalled.

With her hands on her hips, slender yet curvaceous.

Naked.

With her firm breasts well erected in full view.

Naked.

And with her eyes fiercely pointed at his face, turned towards her with a sly smirk on the mouth.

"Trip! What do you mean?"

A slight, prolonged hiss. That was the answer. A whistle. Coming from Trip's lips. As his eyes were turning widened a bit and started to sparkle archly, lingering on her whole figure with blatant and roguish admiration.

"Hey, you want to go straight to the veritable meal, eh T'Pol?"

"Huh?"

"Well, you know. We have enjoyed the appetizer, but not the real meal."

"Eh?"

"Oh sure. The meal, I mean, that we said we intended to do. You see, all things considered, having had the opportunity to enjoy an appetizer I dare say more than fine, I thought to get on with the reading of the fable for a while yet, just as planned, before moving on to the actual scheduled meal. But..." He grinned mischievously. "... if you put yourself in this position, it turns rather difficult for me to resist the temptation to immediately sink my teeth again into my favourite titbit."

And he made snap abruptly his head ahead and gently and softly sank slightly his teeth into the bare flesh of T'Pol's shoulder.

T'Pol's eyes widened under his attack. Her arms collapsed inert along her sides.

"Tr... Trip ..."

"Yes?... mh…. what... mh... is there?" Between a small bite and another.

"Aren't you... aren't you...?"

T'Pol closed her eyes, as Trip's lips played with her skin and his teeth with her flesh.

"Mh... what?"

"Aren't you..." The words died out in her throat and her eyes burst open dramatically, as she felt his hands encircle her breasts and his fingers take to mess around with her nipples.

Gasping, she snapped back, snatching away her shoulder from the impudent teeth and lips of him, as her hands grabbed his frantically by the wrists and vehemently detached them from their target.

Breathless and with her wide eyes staring at his roguish face, she strove to finish, stammering, what she had tried to say.

"A… a… aren't… aren't you… aren't you tired?"

" _ **What?!**_ "

Just this single word in response. Then Trip's shoulders began to wince into a loud and sonorous laugh and, when at last his burst of laughter quieted, his wrists still imprisoned in her timorous hands, he watched T'Pol with a look that managed to be simultaneously teasing and tender. And cheeky. And enamoured.

"Oh my goodness, T'Pol! As that fine fellow of our dear Nameless One would say _, I really do not think it's possible to get tired of you!_ "

He, then, chuckled, without showing the smallest sign of wanting to attempt to free his wrists from her grasp. He enjoyed a lot feeling the slightly trembling hold of her hands. It spoke volumes, their almost imperceptible quivering.

"It would be impossible for anyone, T'Pol. And, least of all, for me."

He smiled mischievously, as his eyes wrapped her soft, naked forms.

"And that's _your_ fault, my delightful vulcan doll."

And T'Pol started to turn dark green, that's to say that, like the Princess, and, like her, without being able to do anything to prevent it, she flushed.

With pleasure.

She swallowed visibly and looked down.

Then she lifted her gaze to look at Trip with two eyes that would have been the envy of a gazelle.

She squeezed his wrists.

"Trip, I... I, however ..."

Trip smiled sweetly. "You're a little tired, sweetie?"

"Y... yes!"

"Eh understandable." He smiled a smile such that the smile of a mischievous fox would appear less roguish by comparison. "When you engage yourself in something, you commit yourself really thoroughly, my girl!"

Then, as his eyes basked in the phosphorescent green colour that T'Pol's ears had assumed at hearing his words...

"So, after the starter, no actual meal? And..." He winked. "...and your vulcan womanly marital obedience?"

T'Pol snapped boisterously. "I _am_ obedient! I've already shown it and I'll show you it again!"

"Ah. So, the veritable meal will come?"

T'Pol released Trip's wrists and raised both her hands to his face. They took it softly and gently, one hand for each side, as her eyes stared at him tenderly. But with an unambiguous voluptuous hotness, too. And inviting. And promising.

"Give me a little break, Adun, and I will make you enjoy a sumptuous meal. The meal for a king."

She brought her face close to his.

"For an emperor."

Her lips rested, slight, on his. They sighed, slight, on his.

"For a god."

And this time it was Trip the one who visibly gulped.

His Adam's apple went up and down.

He raised both hands. He waved them a little in the air, as if he did not know what to do of them.

Then, he pulled himself together. His hands came to rest on the soft, bare thighs of T'Pol, the most logical place, at that moment, where they could desire to find peace.

He smiled, a little forcibly.

"Ooookay! I count on it!"

Then his smile became his usual priceless smile, the one that made beat wildly T'Pol's heart.

"Okay, sweetheart. Interval end. We had a coffee break and later we will dedicate ourselves to the real meal. This is definitely established. Now, let's get back to work. The fable is waiting for us. But ..." He gave a sly wink to T'Pol. "... nothing prevents us from preparing ourselves carefully for the sumptuous meal that you promised me."

He smiled again, impishly. "Let's not lose focus, avoiding at the same time getting sick."

He got up, leaving T'Pol, still in the same position, watching him from below with curious eyes.

He, of course naked just like she was, remained stood straight for a moment looking at her, still smiling, then turned and headed resolutely toward their bed.

He bent over it, grabbed the blanket that was on it, pulled it away from the bed and, with that in hand, turned around and walked briskly back toward T'Pol, who, still crouched on the couch, was beginning to understand.

He stopped in front of the sofa, before T'Pol, waving the blanket in front of her and with the most beautiful smile in the world on his face.

"There."

He threw himself down on the couch beside her. He pulled her to himself, very tightly. With attention and sure mastery, he wrapped both of them in the blanket.

He looked at her craftily. "What do you say, honey? We'll be warm, this way, but ..." His eyes twinkled maliciously. "...I really believe that we will not lose at all our concentration." He winked at her. "Do not you think?"

T'Pol took on a totally vulcan-like expression. "Let's see."

Her voice was serious and professional. She carefully rubbed against him under the blanket. Then she snuggled very closely to him, making sure that there was the highest possible contact between their bodies. Finally, she nodded with conviction and gravitas.

"Yes. The test has to be considered positive."

With equal seriousness, Trip nodded. "Ah, very well. So ..."

He turned his eyes and tracked down the corner of the sofa where the PADD had remained quiet waiting patiently.

He retrieved it, pulling out his arm from under the blanket, and placed it accurately in front of their eyes, so that they could be able to read what was on it.

"I would say that it is time to resume reading, sweetie. Only... mh... something is still missing. You know, we need to keep our concentration to the maximum level."

And his other arm wrapped T'Pol from behind and settled down so that its hand went to end up directly on one of her breasts.

The hand enveloped the breast as in a cup and its palm ended up to lie squarely on her nipple.

The pleasant turgidity of the nipple was perfectly perceptible against the palm of the hand, as well as, it is to swear, the stimulating touch of the palm was fully noticeable by the nipple, not to mention the sensation that the breast felt in its entirety due to the contact with the hand all around it.

And, in fact, T'Pol's reaction turned out to be at all indicative in this sense.

"Trip!"

"Is it unpleasant, wifey?"

 _But might it ever be possible to show a smile more impertinent and roguish than his?_

"No! Not at all! But..."

"But?"

"It is… distracting, here!"

"What do you mean, with that _'it is distracting'_? Would you say by chance that it is counterproductive in order to keep alive the attention for our meal? That seems to me rather strange."

"No! Not for... for the meal."

"Oh? And for what, then?"

"It is... it is hard for me to focus on reading, if you... if you hold me like that!"

"Oh, I see. That's fine on the one side, but on the other..." He chuckled. " _For the contradiction that does not allow it._ "

He took ostentatiously a deep breath, as if to say _'Okay. I resign myself'_.

"All right, then. Perhaps, at this time, it is better to concentrate on reading. Maybe for the meal is enough for us to simply remain so, in the heat, tight to each other, naked, under the blanket. I'm sorry, honey. You know it. I am a poor Human, devoid of the sacrosanct, vulcan sense of measure you have. And I always exaggerate."

And T'Pol felt his hand begin to withdraw haltingly from her breast.

She snapped. From under the blanket, her hand grabbed Trip's hand and stopped it.

"Trip! No!"

He made a look of shown off surprise, as his hand remained motionless, held in place by T'Pol's hand.

"No?" With a puzzled and quizzical expression. And with the gaze of a rogue.

T'Pol raised her eyebrow and looked at him with the look of her that, translated into _'Triptical'_ language, meant to say _'One day or the other, I'll make you foot the bill, damned Adun'_.

"No." In a low voice and with a quite noticeable hint of annoyance.

Then she sighed and, additionally, she shrugged too. She did for real, although Trip could not see it, since she was all wrapped as she was in the blanket. Nevertheless he was able to perfectly catch her motion. Per force. At that moment they were practically one only body.

And she smiled, too. This, he could see. Only a shadow, all right. A subtle shadow. But she did. And it was a smile, this, on her part, that Trip had already seen other times on her visage and whose meaning he had come to understand pretty well. In practice it was the smile with which she heralded that she was about to outmaneuver him.

And the smile, quickly vanished, was followed by the action.

Her hand repositioned accurately that of him upon what it was about to release, that is to say her breast, and then it remained well steady on his, to hold it well firm around the aforementioned breast, in full contact with it and particularly with the nipple, definitely rather hardened, now, to tell the truth.

And finally she spoke, abandoning herself totally into his arms, her head lying on his shoulder, under the blanket that enveloped them like a cosy, warm nest.

And she was serious, severe and rational and logical, in her speaking. Just like the vulcan female she was and had to and wanted to be, the vulcan female everyone knew.

 _And sweet and witty and delightful and entrancing, as only Trip could know and perceive and feel that she was._

With him and for him.

 _Only_ with him and for him.

The only man with whom she could and wanted to do what she was doing now.

The only man who could enjoy the enchanting mischievousness she was capable of having.

Of showing.

With him.

And _only_ with him.

"Vulcans not only possess the sense of measure, they also possess a developed ability of self-control and I would not live up to my vulcan nature if I were not able to practice my own self-control."

Trip was standing silent to listen to her, definitely curious about where she wanted to get at. He knew she was about to make one of her awesome acrobatics of logic, with which not infrequently she was able to save both ways, to run with the hares and hunt with the hounds. Namely to justify, by means of logic, anything illogical she did or thought. And not that it was little, in truth, what out of logic she did or thought.

"Undoubtedly…" And here, another smile appeared, on T'Pol's face, before she went ahead speaking. Slight, also this time, but not too much. Unequivocal, even if it still was what you could define as a faint hint. But there was. And it looked subtly different from the previous one. "…your influence has undermined a little the bases of my self-control, with respect to… certain specific aspects. Even if…" She paused, as if to emphasize what she was saying, without, however, moving. Not at all. "… even if this same influence is what, ultimately, allowed and allows me to be able to carry out a sufficiently adequate management of my emotions, after... the problems I procured myself with my own hands in this regard."

And here, T'Pol raised a grim gaze to Trip, looking at him askance.

"And, incidentally, this is another of your faults toward me, my dear husband, since it has been my insensate desire to be capable of being for you what I thought you wanted me to be to push me to my insane act."

Trip interjected, making a smirk that was a whole program. "I admit also this fault, T'Pol. But I just can not say that, all in all, I feel very guilty about it."

T'Pol could not help but raise her eyebrow. It was... well, it was almost a duty, on her part. But that she was then really convinced of having to do it... well, that was a different story.

And Trip's heartfelt and cheerful laughter was the obvious answer.

T'Pol thought well that it was not appropriate to keep the eyebrow still raised. She resumed without replying the thread of her speech, avoiding to keep on watching Trip.

"Passing over, however, the details concerning our special relationship, it still remains the fact that I am equipped with a superior self-control. Maybe a little deficient, I admit, but still definitely high."

Trip replied with absolute seriousness. "Undoubtedly, sweetheart."

T'Pol hid herself even more in the embrace of Trip, while his hand gently was squeezing her breast, thereby providing to her, indeed, some problem of lucidity.

She sighed, trying not to show it. She had gotten into this mess, and now she had to find a way to get out of it, somehow. And honourably, in addition, as it was appropriate for the Vulcan she was and, especially, for the one she was.

Eh sure, because, the matter was that, among other things, she hadn't the slightest intention to give up the daring and delicious touch of Trip's hand on her bare breast.

It was something special, in that circumstance, on that occasion.

Yes sure. It was nice in and of itself, but it was also something more.

Yes sure. It was true that it was exciting – exciting, yes! - that, surely, it was something that was added to their being naked, clinging to each other under the blanket, to... to keep alive the tension towards what would inevitably and deliciously have been the end of that night.

But it was also a lot more.

It was the possession. The one good. The real one.

It was his saying to her _'you are mine'_.

And it was her saying to him _'I am yours'_.

It was the indescribable savour of an intimacy that was theirs only.

And it was... it was the subtle taste of the forbidden.

And the captivating, exciting – _exciting, yes!_ _Yes! Yes!_ \- game of playing with sex. The one good. The real one.

 _Their_ sex.

 _Their love._

However, it was also true that it was distracting. It was true that it was not at all easy to concentrate on reading with... with his hand that encircled her breast so, in that way, with her nipple that responded pleasantly and yearningly to his prohibited touch.

But even this was nice. It was nice this pining she felt in being kept by him so, in this way.

So? How to get out?

How to continue staying so, in spite of what she had said to him before, not realizing how good it was to stay like this? How to continue staying so, pining deliciously in the restrained desire, in the expectation of what would come later? Justifying in some logical way the logical contradiction between her will to stay so and the fact that she had told him that she could not stay so, under the penalty to have not little troubles to get on with reading?

The way existed.

And it was a way entirely suited to her... vulcan honourableness.

Oh sure, he would be capable of catching the smell of the rat, to put it in his way; would understand perfectly, to speak plain.

But what did it matter? What importance could it ever have?

He would quietly and joyfully agree to be fooled, wholly aware of being fooled.

And delighted of being fooled.

Because he was... in love... with her.

Of the love which wanted to mean _'if you're fine, T'Pol, so am I.'_

And these were his own words.

The words that he had told her so many times. The words that really meant what she was for him.

The words that said all his love for her.

 _If you're fine, T'Pol, so am I._

It did not matter to him anything else. Only that she was fine.

That she was happy.

To the point of cancelling himself, if it had it been the case.

In case he had thought that cancelling himself would mean her happiness.

Even if that were not true, actually.

As when... as when he had cancelled himself for her, to make room to her idiotic, blind willingness, the day... the day when she had crazily thrown to the winds her life.

And his.

The day she had married Koss.

She was on top of his thoughts.

Always.

Constantly.

Only her.

She had rejected him.

And not one time only.

She had humiliated him.

And not one time only.

And his love for her had never faltered.

So then, wasn't it entirely understandable, entirely logical, that now - now that at last she had understood, now that his love had made her free from the stupid shackles that she had built up inside herself, now that she had finally… followed her heart - ... wasn't it quite logical, quite understandable, for her to yield, totally, to her desire for him? The desire she had always harboured for him?

The desire to be held by him so, like he was holding her now?

 _Because the hand that clutched possessively her breast was the hand of his love for her._

But she had to do it also in the way which was befitting to her, in the way he expected from her.

Because... because he loved her for that too.

And she didn't want, could not, had not to disappoint him.

NEVER MORE!

And therefore, on the basis of all this and with her heart swelling with the happiness of his love, T'Pol completed her vulcan _'logical_ _'_ reasoning.

She gave body to the _'logical'_ reasons of her will - of her pleasure - to stay so after saying, and rather vividly, that she could not.

And as for the fact that this wouldn't be easy... well, as her T'hai'la would have said... a problem at a time.

She raised two extremely serious eyes at him.

"By reason of my superior vulcan self-control, I believe, on an informed basis, my husband, to be able to be reasonably capable of continuing to be kept this way by you, without failing to my ability to concentrate on reading."

"Ah."

"Undoubtedly, as I said, this particular way of being held by you will presumably cause me some moments of distraction. But ..."

"But?"

"But, first, this is undoubtedly a very good way in order to keep wide awake our striving towards the fruition of a completely satisfying meal."

"Oh, sure. Logical."

"And, second..."

"Second?"

"Second, some moments of pleasant distraction don't hurt, after all. Maybe, they could even be of help to ease the tension of the reading, do not you agree, husband? I really think you concur with me because I just believe that I am not mistaken in saying that I have heard statements of this sort from you many times. I mean about the merit of distraction in some circumstances."

"Oh, absolutely!"

And - can you believe? - in saying this, Trip was able to show off the most serious of expressions.

Well, maybe his eyes, actually, appeared a little mocking, but T'Pol thought that it was not appropriate to notice it.

With the same extremely serious expression of him, she nodded.

"Very well. So" - and her hand pressed a little more his on her breast - "let's see to continue reading without setting for ourselves too many problems concerning the way we stay, while we keep on doing it."

Trip's expression managed to keep on being serious, as he replied.

"Totally in agreement, wife."

T'Pol stood for a moment to look at his teasing eyes, then she closed hers and rested again her head on his shoulder.

From there, she spoke.

"I would ask, though, my Husband and Lord, to be you the one who reads. You know, I need a fair amount of concentration to maintain a proper control."

Trip, as strange as it could appear, didn't chuckle. Simply, he merely said, "More than logical."

Certainly, however, his voice sounded rather ironical. But all in all... well, T'Pol could not certainly think that there weren't reasons more than excellent for this on his part.

Better to fly over.

Better, simply, to stay to listen to him in his reading the fable.

And to stay to enjoy the wonderful intimacy of their naked bodies entwined with each other in the heat of the blanket.

And to stay to bask in the sweet, stirring, poignant grasp of his hand on her naked breast.

Of course, she knew it well, she was perfectly aware. It would have been sufficient the slightest thing; an unexpected gesture on his part, however small; one touch of his lips on her ear, for example, and she would be lost, she would lose all control.

And in this case, not even Surak would be able to bring back her into line.

But - what a splendid way of saying! - the game was worth the candle.

And even that was exciting.

Pleasantly exciting.

And pleasantly excited yet also quiet, T'Pol braced herself to listen to her K'diwa.

She heard him mutter something.

"So, let's see a little. Where were we? Ah yes. At the..."

She sensed it in advance, but could not avoid it.

 _The feared slightest thing! His unexpected gesture!_

Her eyes darted wide open.

But it was too late.

His teeth were already perpetrating the misdeed.

" **Trip! NO!** "

It was a cry bereft of hope.

Too late! TOO LATE! TOO LATE!

She was already hopelessly shivering under the treasonous assault of his teeth.

His last word got lost in her desperate invocation.

"...ears."

* * *

 _ **End of**_ _ **Chapter Twenty**_

 _ **TBC**_

 **OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO**

 _You know? Is there really to be believed that not a little of the Nameless One has survived in Trip._

 _Do not you agree, my friends?_

 **OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO**

 **(^)** _Do you remember my "Shore Leave", my friends? I really hope you do_.

 **(^^)** _And do you remember my "Destiny", my friends? I really hope you do._

 **(^^^)** _And here we are also at "In the hall of the Mountain King". Once again._


	21. The Ears of the Elves - Chapter 21

**The Ears of the Elves**

 **By Asso**

 **Chapter Twenty-one**

* * *

 _My friends, Trip and T'Pol are really two bullies._

 _They forced me to delay a little longer the revelation of the secrets of the robe._

 _They wanted the footlights all for them one more time._

 _I beg you. Forgive me._

 _It is not my fault; it's their fault, of Trip and T'Pol._

 _But the next time they won't have their way! They won't impose their will once again!_

 _I swear!_

* * *

 **The Ears of the Elves**

 **Chapter Twenty-one**

 **ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo**

"Do you think you still have a little room for dessert?"

Trip shook his head in the _'What the hell are you babbling about?'_ gesture. He looked at T'Pol with a gaze slightly clouded for opposite and conflicting reasons, but all of them equally valid and that is to say on the one hand the pleasant sense of _'satiety' he_ felt after the gargantuan banquet and on the other hand the alarm sensation that crept into him at the unexpected and rather troubling T'Pol's question.

And it must be said that this second feeling went quickly to overwhelm significantly and not a little disturbingly the first.

"Dessert?"

T'Pol rolled about in his arms. She was not at all cold, despite the blanket had obviously rolled off the couch and was now on the ground in a shapeless heap, next to the PADD, for the umpteenth time left to wait.

On the other hand, it was impossible to feel cold, after such a lavish meal.

T'Pol nodded satisfied and pleased within herself and she had really all reasons. The meal she had promised to her Adun had truly been the meal worthy of a god, not to say more. A little bit ahead of what was planned, but... - her inner smile surfaced very light on her lips. - … all his fault, of her Adun. Once again. As always. His, and of his tantalizing and reckless gnawing at the tip of her ear. He should have anticipated that such a rash act on his part, working along with their staying stark-naked embraced with each other under the blanket and along with the dangerous way in which his hand was possessively positioned on her bare breast to hold it as in a... rather stimulating living cup, would have produced such an effect.

Worse for him. As he himself would say... _who is the cause of his ill, cry himself_ , in the words of the Italian poet Dante Alighieri, so much liked by him.

Oh sure! Because her T'hai'la was cultured, and not a little. But he did not show it. He said that it did not squared with the image that others had of his personality and it would have looked rather ridiculous in the eyes of these others. The brusque and rough engineer that for all he was... who knew of poetry!

Well! Sometimes it was really difficult to understand Humans and, considering the high degree of humaneness that her Trip possessed... well, sometimes it was virtually impossible to understand him. Even for her!

But, with her, it was quite another thing. For her... for her, her Trip had even written poems in his own handwriting. _L_ … _love_ poems. And she hadn't absolutely found ridiculous such a fact, in the teeth of her being a... a... a ligneous Vulcan.

Mh, not precisely ligneous, to be honest.

Damn of an Adun, who knew how to make extremely soft and flexible the wood with which she was supposed to be made!

Really worse for him! He truly had deserved all the ill that he had caused himself with his own hands. And... with his teeth.

Even if… mh, even if, on second thought…

 _Worse for him?_ Well, most likely... mh, no no... it was more appropriate saying _for certain_... he wasn't then so displeased to have provoked to himself an ill of such a sort. Actually he had appeared to savour with great relish the meal she had served him. And... ahem… honestly, she too had quite happily tasted the... the veritable banquet she had set for him. And… oh well! For herself, too. Surely!

Truth be told, she had proven to be… ehm… rather greedy.

Well, necessarily. It's not that her Adun had remained on the sidelines. Namely, once she - triggered by him, certainly, but she had to honestly admit that he was right in saying that he hadn't then had to strive hard to set fire to the powders - had kicked off, he had actively participated in setting the meal and... and he too had a way with dishes and courses. And how! In fact he was a cook... superfine! And was definitely a master in presenting courses and dishes with a lot of... imagination. And well seasoned. And flavoured. And... spiced, too.

Decidedly... tasty.

Oh yes. It had been a quite satisfying meal.

And invigorating.

Of course, she now felt rather tried. Certainly... well... certainly a little more tired than before, inevitably.

And nevertheless... nevertheless...

With a little bit of break...

The... the matter was that she loved the way Humans were accustomed to ending the meal, when possible.

Whit a sweet.

A dessert, able to adjust once and for all... the appetite.

And even this was his fault, of her ineffable T'hai'la. Wasn't it him, by chance, who had made it so that she had ended up appreciating the pecan pie?

Although... it was not exactly the pecan pie what she was thinking about now as a dessert.

And indeed, a little place for... a dessert of such a kind... well, she still had sufficient room.

And her Adun was really good at preparing and... serving adequately the dessert.

With fine artistry.

Whether it was pecan pie or other type of dessert.

With a visage that might have seemed that of a cherub, well wrapped and well warm in Trip's embrace, snuggled on his lap, T'Pol looked up at his timorous and worried face and replied seraphically to the implied and worried question of the most dumbstruck and most worried of T'hai'las.

"Dessert, yes. You know, that sweet you Humans are in the habit of savouring, when you can, at the end of the meal." T'Pol wrapped herself voluptuously in her Adun arms like in a blanket. "A very nice habit, I must say. I really wouldn't mind at all finishing our banquet with a worthy dessert."

Her bewitching dark gray-green eyes shone with crafty mischief, as her voice was the sound of the most serious seriousness.

"The abidance with this exquisite custom would really be a tangible sign of the respect and obedience that a respectful and obedient Vulcan wife as I am has the duty and the pleasure to show for her human husband. Therefore, I renew my question, my Husband and Lord. Do you have yet a little room for dessert?"

For a few moments, Trip stood speechless, with his eyes wide open in disbelief.

Then a kind of stunted babble was heard from him.

"But... but... but... we... we... we... weren't... weren't... weren't y... y... y... you tired?"

T'Pol rolled up into a ball like a kitten on Trip's lap and in his arms and, closing her eyes, she almost seemed to purr just like a kitten, in her answering.

"I was and I am. But the meal was definitely invigorating and it would be really a pity not to finish it in the most worthy way."

And this time there wasn't any babbling on Trip's part. There was a veritable explosion of words.

"T'Pol! You are a tireless Vulcan, but I'm only a poor Human! I cannot ..."

T'Pol opened her eyes and, looking up at her human husband from her screwed position on his lap, she cut him off in a way halfway between sly and impatient.

"From past experience, I have excellent reasons to believe that you, my Husband and Lord, have highly efficient and rapid recovery capabilities. Maybe ..." And she literally winked at him. "... everything you need is a short break."

Trip could not help but smile.

"Ah here. A pause. Like for you before, right?"

"Right, my Husband and Lord."

"And you'd be willing to grant it to me?"

T'Pol's eyes shone with bewildered horror.

"My Lord! It's you the one who commands! Not me! I do not have the power to grant anything to you! It's you the one who can grant something to me!"

"Oh, right, right. So let's do this. I will grant you to grant me a break."

"I obsequiously obey and respectfully accept that you grant me to grant you a break, my Lord."

"Okay." Trip grinned. "Try to respect it, this time, though, T'Pol."

T'Pol nodded with regardful deference. "The power is yours, my Husband and Lord. In every sense."

Trip frowned, however smiling cunningly. "What do you mean, _'in every way'_ , my reverent wife?"

"I mean, my Lord, that it's yours the power to make sure that I can be capable of respecting the pause that you've granted me to grant you. Enough that you, if you feel like, refrain from nibbling the tip of my ear. "

Trip chuckled. "Ah sure. Understood. My fault again. As envisaged and as predictable." He scratched fondly his wife's head. "Agreed. All right. Got the hint. Teeth in their place. Okay."

"And also the hands, my Husband and Lord."

"Eh?"

T'Pol did not answer. Gingerly, she extricated herself from Trip's arms and jumped down from his lap.

Followed by his curious gaze, she stooped to pick up the blanket and the PADD.

She straightened and, standing before Trip, she put the PADD in his hand. Then she bent down and sat down back in his lap, while, at the same time, she bustled with the blanket so as to cover carefully them both with it, as he had done previously.

Finally, she took that of his arms whose hand didn't hold the PADD by the wrist and, twisting her bust a little and, in the meantime, beckoning to him so as to make him understand what she wanted him to do, she managed to make so that the mentioned arm could pass behind her back and that the relative hand could go back to end up exactly on one of her bare breasts. She fiddled a bit, so that the aforementioned Trip's hand was able to end up around her breast and hold it as in a cup, with her own hand over his to keep it well firm, exactly in the way both hands, hers and his, had done before that… hunger had claimed its rights.

Lastly, with a satisfied expression, she squatted down back into his lap, her head buried in him.

She closed her eyes, at last, and whispered, in a clearly contented tone. "That's done. Your hands, my Husband and Lord, are now perfectly in place." She sighed, decidedly smug and pleased. "If you believe, you can resume reading."

Trip's soft laugh made itself heard again. "All right, wifey. In effect, as established, now it's up to me. So, let's start again with the read and, together, with the pause I need with regard to our meal."

There was a moment of silence on his part, then his voice rose, low and insinuating. "I'll try to make good use of this pause time. According to what you yourself tell me, I should have a rather eclectic brain. Who knows if, though focusing on reading, I can't manage to... well, I am an engineer, right?... to _engineer_ a dessert worthy of such a name. You know, it would be fair that I were able to reciprocate in some way the great care you've had in preparing the delicacies you have made me savour."

And, this time, another soft giggle was clearly heard. That of T'Pol.

"I count on it, my Husband and Lord."

Trip looked down on what little of her face that he could see, so buried against him as it was.

But that little was more than enough to show how beautiful that face was.

He knew she could not see that he was watching her. Her eyes were closed.

But he knew perfectly well that she could feel that he was doing it; he knew that she could sense the mixture of love and delighted pleasure with which he was watching her so beautiful visage.

He smiled. How could it have been possible for him not to do it?

Damned rogue of a vulcan female.

Damned, sweet rogue of a vulcan female!

More rogue than him, even!

Wonderful rogue of a vulcan female, of a vulcan wife, who knew how to play with his own words!

 _I count on it._

All right. Okay.

* _So be it, my rascal wifey.*_

Trip lowered his lips, while a slight smile continued to hover over them, on her marvellous delicate ear.

He whispered on it.

"You can really count on it, gorgeous."

Her eye, the one visible, being the other hidden against him, opened up.

The shiny dark gray-green pupil of that eye moved upwards to look at him, while her eyebrow rose.

Her voice resounded muffled from against his chest.

"I'm happy of that, my husband. However, prithee, in order to avoid from ending up, both of us, a little too much weighed down by further titbits before the coveted dessert..."

Trip furrowed slightly his eyebrows, without the smile fading away from his lips, so close to her ear.

"Yes, wife?"

"Could you distance a little your mouth from the tip of my ear?"

The room echoed with the cheerful laughter of Trip.

He lifted his head and nodded. "Sure, wife, sure. Better to avoid indigestions."

Then he composed himself, trying to take on a dignified attitude.

He focused his gaze on the PADD.

"So, let's see. Once again, where were we?"

T'Pol's eye did shut. Her voice, soft and muffled, made itself heard again. "At the ears, husband, do you remember? But not _my_ ears."

Trip's chuckle mingled with his voice.

"Yeah sure. We were at the ears of the Elves." His eyes scanned the PADD. "Where's that phrase? That of the Nameless One? Ah, here it is."

And Trip resumed reading just from those words, the last ones that he and T'Pol had read. The words of the Nameless One.

 _"It's just a matter of ears."_

* * *

 _ **End of Chapter Twenty-one**_

 _ **TBC**_

 **ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo**

 _Well, all things considered Trip and T'Pol are not been so greedy._

 _Actually, their spotlight has been rather short, do not you think?_

 _Surely even they realize that the secrets of the robe are waiting._

 _So then... come on!_

 _Next time it's up to these secrets!_


	22. The Ears of the Elves - Chapter 22

**The Ears of the Elves**

 **By Asso**

 **Chapter Twenty-two**

* * *

 _Do you remember my promise, my friends? I mean that relating to "the secrets of the robe"?_

 _Well it came the time to start taking a look at these secrets._

* * *

 **The Ears of the Elves**

 **Chapter Twenty-two**

 **ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo**

The Princess felt within something...

A cold... a frost...

Pain... suffering… incomprehension...

Sorrow.

Despair.

And… loneliness.

An endless, limitless, total, loneliness.

A loneliness without hope.

The Princess understood.

She was feeling…

 _She was feeling what the Nameless One's life had been from the time he was born._

Yes. The Princess understood.

Her life, too, had become a wandering life of loneliness and despair, a loneliness and a despair all the more intense because, in her childhood and her adolescence, she had known joy and lightheartedness. And now she no longer had them. And the memory and nostalgia of what she had lost was sharp and excruciating.

And nevertheless…

Nevertheless she had had them.

She had had joy and lightheartedness.

She had known affection. Love.

The loving hands of her parents had caressed her. Their lips had kissed her forehead, her cheeks.

She had lost her parents, yes, it was true. Them and all her loved ones. And her companions, almost all. And in the most brutal way.

In the most brutal way her world had collapsed on her.

And at the hands of the Humans. Humans. Like the one in whose hands she was now.

But she had had them.

She had had a mother in whose arms she could seek warmth, a father in whose arms she could seek protection.

And she had had time and way to love them.

And had a sweet memory of them.

Strong and lively and vibrant, now, so much to hurt, to be heartbreaking.

But, much as heartbreaking this memory could be, just because now only a memory; much as heartbreaking the fact per se could be that her parents had been torn away from her and the way in which this had happened; much as heartbreaking the thought could be that never again she could embrace them; much as heartbreaking her life could now be, in comparison of what it had been and of what it could have been and never again, instead, would have been... despite all this...

 _Despite all this, she had known what it meant, being loved._

And she had had comrades.

She had known the warmth of friendship.

And there had been friends who, survived and still standing, had not abandoned her when the hour of her destiny had rung, nefarious and fatal.

The heart of the Princess ran to Atana. Her handmaid. Her friend. Dead. Murdered by the Nameless One.

By that monster!

Yes. By that… monster.

 _Who had never known a ray of light in his life of monster._

 _Who had never received a single gesture of love._

Who had known only contempt. And derision. And pain. And suffering. And sorrow.

And... loneliness.

An endless, limitless, total, loneliness.

 _A loneliness… without hope._

That monster.

 _That Human._

Disowned by everyone, even by his own blood brothers, by the Humans among whom he was born, and, indeed, just by these ones, by his fellow beings, torn away from the arms of his parents even before he could perceive that maybe these ones - these ones, at the very least - could harbour some feeling for him.

But this, then... could it have come true for real, when he hadn't been parted from his parents in that so horrible way? Actually... Actually, no! The Princess perceived it, felt it with agonizing clarity. Not even his parents had had for him, during the time they had been with him, a single gesture, a single thought of love. For the monster that stepmother nature had wanted to make be born from them.

The Princess felt all this. She felt it acutely, as an ice blade that pierced the soul.

And she could almost... could almost understand the fury and hatred which had arisen from that solitude without hope!

And... could feel all the pain, all the disappointment, the despairing despondency, which had at last given the fatal blow to that monster doomed to be a monster in body and soul, when... when also the Elves, _the great, the powerful Elves_ , his... his supposed saviours, those who had pulled him out of that pit with no way out, where he had been cast to die of hunger and thirst, alone, in the solitude that was the only companion that he knew and that would have always known… when they too, the Elves, had proved to be not different from the Humans who had raged on his body of monster. On his soul of… Human.

The Elves… the Elves had raged on him the same way.

On his body.

And on what was left of his soul.

Dispersing its shreds into the savage furor of the fury of the wind.

Yes. The Princess felt it. She felt it acutely. She felt it like if it had been her to live it.

 _She sensed what the Nameless One's life had been from the time he was born. And… and she sensed what the Nameless One's life had been among her breed brothers, in the hands of…"_

* * *

"But this... this is a Bond, T'Pol!"

T'Pol winced into Trip's arms.

It was true. It was true, for Surak's sake! It took the intuitive ability of her human Bond-Mate to understand what had been before her eyes and her logical mind without her noticing it!

She was barely able to whisper a stunned "Yes."

"But, a Bond... for it to take shape... isn't... isn't there need of... isn't there need of... of... I mean... you told me that..."

"I told you that the Bond gets established as a result of a mating."

If you were to express the way in which T'Pol said these words it should be said that she was rather curt in speaking so, indeed, let's say that she spoke decidedly bluntly. Indeed, could it be possible to say by chance that she spoke even a little _too_ bluntly? Even for her customary standard? Actually it is possible, indeed it was exactly so.

Why? Easy to understand. It was her way of saying _I am ashamed as a thief caught red handed and I don't know what to do!_

And why she felt so? Well, inside her, even though she did not know how to acknowledge it, she knew very well the why.

A nagging tiny voice inside her said _'You have really always behaved like an idiot with your Trip. You have trampled on his feelings so many times that you have even lost count. Just as you did at that time, when in practice you talked about your first romantic encounter as if it were only a banal, animalistic mating! But how on earth is it possible that you had the incredible good fortune he hasn't grown weary once and for all of running after you?_

So spoke that tiny voice inside T'Pol, but of course that tiny voice didn't let itself be heard outside.

What let itself be heard outside it was her sharp statement, instead.

But, even without admitting to herself, she relied on the fact that her Trip wouldn't let himself be fooled. And so it was, in fact.

And yet... and yet...

Actually Trip understood very well all this. By now, even without the Bond, he knew T'Pol by heart and he knew that when she did so it was because she was ashamed and did not know what to do, but, in the teeth of all this, he could not help but snort.

And this too is easy to understand. The matter was that even now, after so long and after all that had passed between him and T'Pol and despite what the two of them were now the one for the other, with full recognition even on the part of that hard-headed of his vulcan better half... well, even now, that statement, that she had expressed in that way, still burned him.

So it's likewise easy to understand the gruffness of his reply.

"Yeah, you told me so."

Kicking mentally herself, T'Pol realized that this time she had really gone beyond what was licit, but, thanks to the lord of all logics, she was able to remedy immediately.

How?

Easy this too to understand. She let that little interior voice hover free to be heeded by her, ceasing to play dumb. Nice way to say, this, of her Adun. Colourful and definitely expressive. And awfully suitable for her, damnit!

Anyway, pressed by the situation, she lent ear to that inner tiny voice. She had learned to do so. It had taken a long time, but in the end she had learned. Sometimes she let herself be misled yet by the treacherous siren of her old and stifling vulcan way of behaving, as it had happened just now, but once she had realized that it was much better to follow that thin voice, she, thanks to Surak, had learned to do so.

Eh sure. Because that thin voice was the voice of her heart and she had understood for quite a while, fortunately, that, ultimately, it was the only voice that she had to follow. That voice, the moment she allowed it to be heard, knew always how to suggest to her the right way forward.

And it was so even now.

That tiny voice made her grasp straight away what she had to do.

So, she did not raise her eyes to look at her T'hai'la. Simply, she pressed gently on her breast his hand as she replied with the most soft and warm of voices.

"I was wrong, Adun. The long-held vulcan belief I told you about, in our case is only partially true. Our... our first mating was simply the inescapable, ca…" Here T'Pol got stuck an instant, but she realized that she could pronounce it, that strong adjective, in the context of what she was saying. "…carnal seal of a Bond which had to fatally take form and substance and which already existed between us. And... even before we were born."

And at this point T'Pol looked up at Trip and stared at him as only a woman in love can watch the man she loves.

"You've understood it, you've proved and it is absolutely true." T'Pol's hand strongly pressed Trip's hand on her breast. "Ours, Adun, is a Bond that transcends time."

Well, at this point the only thing Trip could do was to try to avoid showing once again to T'Pol that she was damn right when she said that he was too emotional. So he averted his gaze from her to prevent her from being able to see the tears that had surfaced in his eyes.

Wasted effort, however, and he was perfectly aware of that. That damn Bond knew too well its stuff!

He cleared his throat, focusing ostensibly his look on the PADD.

"Oh... ah... well... so it's no surprise that the Princess can perceive so well the essence of what the Nameless One's life had been. His..." Trip frowned . "...his loneliness without hope."

T'Pol lowered her eyes again. "No. It's no surprise, Adun." She clung to him. "After all... after all, the Princess and the Nameless One are the two of us. And we two are an open book, one for the other. For the Princess and the Nameless One it is not already so, but the book is starting to open up even for them, it seems, at least as for the Princess."

Trip nodded thoughtfully. "Yeah. So it seems. And I wonder why the book starts to open just for her."

T'Pol abandoned her position, making slip away, rather reluctantly, Trip's hand from her breast, and sat up on his knees. She put herself astride him, careless that the blanket fell a little down. Looking fixedly at him in the eyes, she took his face in her hands.

"Maybe because she is the future Vulcan who is me, and therefore she is more receptive in terms of telepathy. But I believe, Adun, that it's simply because she powerfully feels the Nameless One's irresistible lure, just as I felt powerfully from the beginning yours. Your smell, Adun, the smell that has ensnared and encaged me from the first moment, was the smell of your irresistible lure, Ashal-veh."

Trip stayed silent, his eyes locked on those of T'Pol, the hand holding the PADD abandoned inertly on the couch, the other resting on the hip of T'Pol, under the blanket.

T'Pol approached her face to his, merged her gaze with his.

"He can be the most rogue of all rogues, Trip, the fiercest of all living beings, but she can not escape him. Just as you could be the most rogue of all rogues, the fiercest of all living beings, but I couldn't escape you."

T'Pol took a short break. "He is her destiny."

Another short break. Then T'Pol resumed talking. And she punctuated her words punctiliously.

"You are my destiny."

T'Pol's words sank deep down in Trip.

Her words.

 _ **His**_ words! **(*)**

Which now were _**her**_ words

He found it even hard realizing.

But it was T'Pol's care to fix things.

She smiled.

And kissed him.

Then she slipped down again to curl up like a kitten in his lap, pulling up the blanket and bringing back his hand there where it lay really well. On her breast.

And, having done this, she closed her eyes one more time and sighed contented and satisfied.

Shortly after, she heard Trip cough slightly.

She half-opened one eye and looked up at him. It was hard not to smile again. His face was all a program while he was trying to compose himself. But, inwardly, T'Pol smiled toothy. Okay, Trip was... ahem... her Husband and Lord, but she, to put it as he would have said, was the mistress of his heart. And this was... let's face it... this was quite... elating. And made her feel terribly female.

Softly and perceptible slyly, T'Pol turned to him.

"All well, my Husband and Lord?"

"Eh? Oh, sure, sure. So... ahem... so then..."

"Yes?"

"Taking up… hem… taking up the thread of what we were saying, she, the Princess I mean, is able to have the perception of what the Nameless One's life has been from the time he was born."

T'Pol opened her other eye too and shifted uncomfortably. "Yes."

"And of what the Nameless One's life has been among her breed brothers."

T'Pol murmured. "Yes."

"A not easy life, huh T'Pol?"

T'Pol snuggled even further into Trip's arms, under the blanket, without answering.

Once again Trip nodded, this time more to himself than to T'Pol.

"Okay. So then let's go to see what kind of life was, the Nameless One's life..."

He retrieved the PADD and lowered his eyes on it. He found the phrase that he hadn't read completely, the one he had left pending.

He resumed reading precisely from it.

… _in the hands of…_

Trip couldn't help but break off again an instant.

Then, he completed the sentence.

… _in the hands of the Elves._

And finally he went on.

* * *

Night Elves, of course. But still Elves. The Princess heaved a sigh. In this he, her master, wasn't mistaken. Not at all.

 _Night Elves._

The dark side of the race of Elves, but also able to be luminous sometimes, just like the Elves of Light could sometimes be as dark and the Night Elves, if not even more.

 _Night Elves._

Not too dissimilar, ultimately, from the Elves of Light, as she was.

Not dissimilar… except for the colour.

For the darkness of their skin and their heart.

But... with the same ears.

The brand of the Elves. Their ears. In the eyes of Humans.

And the Nameless One was a Human.

Monstrous.

But he was a Human. Humans were his fellow men, if... if so it could be said. Different from the Elves only in the ears.

 _Just… just a matter of ears._

For the rest... no difference.

And could she say that her human and monstrous master was wrong?

Could she deny that the Elves, like the Humans, had sprinkled their history of fraternal blood?

Could she deny the bloody fights that had opposed the so-called Elves of Light to the so-called Elves of Night?

Could she deny that the Elves of Night could easily have taken the place of the Elves of Light, if they had been the ones who had emerged winners from the millennial, fratricidal strife between the two elven species?

The time of deception was over. Swept away by the avenging hand of fate.

By the hand of the Humans.

And that Human... that monstrous Human... had been victim of the Humans as well as of the Elves.

As well of... Mother Nature.

Atrociously.

Without a single glimmer of light.

Without even the faint consoling glow of a sweet memory.

For him there had been no mercy.

For him there had been no comprehension.

There hadn't been even a sparkle of love.

Never.

Not from Nature.

Not from the Humans.

Not from the Elves.

The Princess perceived it, sensed it, felt it.

Understood it.

And, with horror, she could clearly perceive, and sense, and feel, and understand, the horror of the Nameless One's life under the heel of her Night Brothers.

Before he became the Nameless One.

Before hatred and furor made him the Nameless One.

She felt it. She perceived it.

And…

… _she wanted to know._

With fear.

With dread.

With Affright!

For what the Nameless One could have done to her if he'd flown into a rage for her reckless desire to know.

Sure. Certainly. For this, of course.

But more, much more, for the fear that what the Nameless One had had to endure among her Dark Brothers could have been too horrible to bear on her part, because... because, in some way, it would have been as if it had been _her_ to do it.

The Elf she was.

And even more for the fear of being overwhelmed by that frost.

By that furor.

By that endless, limitless, total loneliness without hope.

But she wanted to know.

She _had_ to know!

For a brief moment she lowered her head and closed her eyes, to find the strength and the words.

Then, she looked up at him, turning her head toward his face.

She spoke softly.

For fear of him.

For fear of knowing.

"What... what have they done to you, my brothers of the night, my lord?"

The Nameless One gave no sign of having understood.

Only, his eye became a frost crack.

The Princess swallowed.

She clenched her hands nervously to each other.

Her heart trembled.

She was... **she had to be crazy!**

"My lord..."

"I understood!"

The Princess jumped on her chair.

Now she would pay dearly!

Now hell would fall on her!

And instead...

Instead the chilly crack disappeared. The eye reappeared, went back to be the same as before.

 _Almost_ the same as before.

Because its intense blue was clouded now.

It was veiled.

And the Princess saw and felt what that veil was.

It was sorrow.

It was sadness.

Gloominess.

 _Endless._

The Nameless One looked up, turned around, and, remaining so, his hands crossed behind his back, he spoke.

In a low voice.

Almost with fatigue.

"They taught me to be a perfect jester."

The Princess said nothing, while, with her eyes fixed on her master's nape, covered with that unnatural, golden mane, she waited for him to continue.

"They taught me to do somersaults and invent jokes and make people laugh."

Slowly, the Nameless One turned back toward her.

The Princess thought that never again she might see a more profound misery than the misery that at that moment she saw in that fogged blue eye.

"Do you know, Princess? One must really admit it."

And never again she might feel a deeper bitterness than the bitterness she felt vibrate in the sardonic words of her master.

"You Elves are truly capable of great things. Yes, really. But think a bit! Giving yourself the purpose to teach a child - a dull, stupid, human child, marked by the truest monstrosity in the face, sign, this one, really of his inadequacy; and uncouth and uncultivated, almost incapable of expressing himself - to talk with appropriateness and preciousness; to speak with due respect; to master his own body so as to enable it to make the most entertaining stunts, to be like made with rubber, despite being devoid of an arm; to be able to laugh at himself of his own monstrosity, for the pleasure of his masters; to make bows and curtsies, with an empty belly in the midst of lavish banquets; to say _'thank you, my lords, for making me a laughingstock, for putting me in the pillory, for exposing my visage of monster to mockery and derision.'_ "

The veil disappeared from the eye blue. The coldest ice enveloped it, while the heart of the Princess shuddered by a frost even more gelid and throbbed with icy fear. And with horror.

With shame.

"A titanic undertaking, really. Yet your breed companions were successful. Sure, it was not easy, this must be said. It became necessary to resort to appropriate means. Such as... mandatory corporal coercions, let's say... tortures. You know, that human boy with the face of a monster was rather stubborn. He was... damn!... was really a rebel! And he was also quite strong, for being a Human, and his strength grew with his growth. Inevitably it became necessary to..."

The Nameless One stopped talking abruptly. He bent his powerful torso and exhibited the lapels of his unrefined leather shirt. With a sudden gesture he opened the lapels and exposed his bull-like neck.

He limited himself to do that, without saying further words.

The Princess jerked. Suddenly it seemed to her that the chair on which she was sitting were burning beneath her.

A purple and livid circle ran all around the Nameless One's neck. It seemed... it looked...

It was...

The Nameless One laughed, mocking. "As you see, Princess, I have had good teachers, about how to enchain people. I've got to learn by my own experience."

Ostentatiously, the Nameless One brought his hand to the big mauvish brand that disfigured his neck.

"I wonder why this stupid brand doesn't want to go away." He grinned. "What do you say, my Princess? Perhaps is it for... nostalgia? I mean, for the nostalgia of the massive iron collar that imprinted it on my skin? Or, maybe, for the purpose not to let fade out the memory of my slavery?"

He laughed, loudly. Sneeringly. "What a nonsense! As if I was able to forget! Evidently, behind this monstrous face and within this queer brain, my foolish humaneness still plays some stupid role!"

He laughed again, sarcastically. "But I do not despair. One of these days I will be capable of being in full the monster that I appear and that I am."

Suddenly, just after these words, The Nameless One assumed a grim expression. His eye shrank until to be a slit and he hissed between his beastly and human lips.

"Indeed..." His iron hand snapped in front of the Princess and clenched itself into a fist, as to crush something. Anything. "... the time has come. Monster I am and monster I shall be!"

He turned a bad look at the Princess and discovered his teeth, _his fangs_ , in a wicked grin. "I believe that you, my perspicacious Princess, can easily imagine what this means." He grinned openly. "Concerning you, I mean."

The Princess seemed to crumple in on herself.

Her wide eyes looked like two frightened doll eyes.

Her voice was a trembling murmur.

And yet there was also dignity in her tone. Somehow, resoluteness.

"It wasn't me to do this to you, master."

For a moment the Nameless One stayed silent, while his eye stared, as if petrified, at the Princess.

Then he straightened up. To the Princess he seemed a huge statue of cold and livid stone.

Then his laughter rang out.

A loud laughter; and bitter; and mocking.

Yet so excruciatingly sad.

"Oh, but of course! Who could ever think that the Princess Alel, the Princess of all of the Elves, she who is truly the real, legitimate sovereign of this old world, where now only hatred and fury seem to reign supreme, could ever get stained even only with an infinitesimal part of the crimes that her unworthy breed brothers have perpetrated to me? And then... 'crimes' is really a big word. What crime can ever be that of having fun behind the back of a freak of nature like me? Is there perhaps crime in holding chained, in a dingy, cold, wet stone cell, a monster like me? Pulling him out of there only to make him the jester with ridiculous face of beast that it is up to him to be? What crime can ever be that of convincing him to be an obsequious jester by dint of blows and beatings? Rightfully, rightfully, of course! What crime can ever be that of making him satisfy his hunger with the leftovers of the meals of his masters' pets? What crime can ever be that of laughing at him, of scoffing at him for his horrid appearance? What crime can ever be that of making him crawl on his knees in the presence of his masters? Of making him tremble - him, a 'different' child, and then a 'different' teenager, and then a 'different' man - in front of them? But come on! We're talking of me! Of a monster with no soul and just with that bit of brain useful to make him well understand that he is a monster, destined to be a monster. And an _obedient_ monster! There is no blame - never there could be! - in treating me in the way I deserve! It goes without saying!"

How it hurt, that blue eye, full with hate and rancour! And with infinite sadness.

"Unfortunately, however, that child, and afterward that teenager, and afterward that man, thought - foolishly, of course! Quite stupidly! - that he did not deserve to be treated so. And, equally unfortunately, there was incredibly some kind of brain inside him, which, even more incredibly, thought he could escape his fate. A kind of brain that watched, observed. _Purloined._ Anything could be useful to it to give its monstrous owner the way to liberate himself. And to avenge himself."

The blue eye was again a slit, now. A scorching slit.

"And, as you see, my sweet Princess, my poor brain was successful. Eventfully, I have to say, but it was successful. Maybe, if I feel like it, I'll tell you how, one day or the other, and I'll tell you also of the not small problems I have had to deal with, once I managed to break my collar. Not now, though. Now just know what I told you. "

The ferine mouth twisted into a cruel and evil sneer.

"Just know that I'm here. Free and strong. To take my revenge."

Gods of the world! What a hatred, what a wrath, what a resentment in that eye!

And how could it be otherwise? How could that eye not burn with wrath and hatred and resentment, that eye that had seen what it had seen?

But it wasn't her! It wasn't her, the one who had made it so that that gloomy eye could have seen everything it had seen!

It was not her!

Why had to be her to pay?

Why had it to be on her that the Nameless One would take his revenge on the whole people of the hated Elves?

 **It wasn't her!**

The Princess jumped up, forgetful even of the fear. She found herself screaming.

" **IT WAS NOT ME!"**

And at that point a strange thing happened.

The Nameless One didn't get angry; much less, he did not came out with one of his sardonic phrases capable of wounding the soul; he did not laugh, did not smile, did not sneer.

He simply stood watching the Princess with a strange look, a look neither bad, nor mocking, nor wrathful.

A stone look.

The Princess was standing motionless, wrapped in the robe too big for her; panting; with her distraught eyes fixed on the master of her life.

And the seconds passed. And he didn't say nor did anything.

Eventually the Princess couldn't take it anymore.

Her heart was beating in her throat.

She felt throb her head.

Unconsciously, she raised her hand to him. To ask. To entreat. Anything, to break that wait.

Anything, to bring to life that stone statue that was standing still watching her with a stone gaze as only a stone statue could do.

"Master..."

And the stone statue returned to life.

"I know."

And the tone... it was not a stone tone.

The statue came alive. Sighed, even. As a being of flesh and blood, as a being endowed with soul could do.

And spoke. And it was a soul murmur.

"No, it was not you. Never would you have done it. Never would you have raged on me."

The statue sighed again.

"But you're the Princess Alel, you are _'the Elves'_. All the Elves. Everything that any Elf can do or may do or may have done, it's as if it were done by you."

The Princess' voice did not tremble. This time it did not trembled. It was proud, the Princess, in her talking.

"And so I will have to pay for this? For the faults of the Elves? Although I do not have any guilt?"

The statue resumed the appearance and the way of doing of the Nameless One.

The statue grinned.

"You'll pay, Princess. But not in the way that you think. I've already said it to you. You will be the means by which I will take my revenge on Nature, on Humans... and on Elves."

The Princess advanced toward the Nameless One. She did not care anything anymore. Whatever could happen, she could no longer be silent or tolerate.

She was the Princess Alel!

"Explain yourself, my Lord! Tell me at last what you intend to do with me!"

One step away from her, the statue of flesh and blood sneered.

"A lot of things, my proud Princess. But, first of all, I intend to make of you the peculiar use of which we said."

"Ah sure!" The Princess straightened proudly her shoulders. "Of course. Now I have recovered, I feel good. I am fit. Now I can fight. Now I can give you the pleasure of taking me with the fight. With my futile fight."

"I think so, Princess. Judging by your behaviour, I really think so."

"Of course, my Lord. You can not be mistaken. And how could ever my master be mistaken? How could the Nameless One be mistaken?"

The blue eye scowled. "Princess ..."

But the Princess no longer felt any fear.

"And tell me, my Lord and Master, do not you think that it would be all well and good for your slave to comply in all respects with your desires?"

The Nameless One stood taken aback. He seemed as caught off guard.

"What ..."

The Princess did not speak. She acted.

Proud and erect, she made a few steps back, then, with one swift motion, she opened her robe and made it slip to the ground.

The penumbra of the tent seemed to get broken into a vivid light, like thunderstruck by the blazing glare of pure beauty.

The Princess' magnificent body flourished, naked and gorgeous, in plain sight.

The sight of the Nameless One.

The blue eye opened wide.

"Here, my Lord. As you wanted. The robe opened for you."

The Nameless One was motionless. His eye drank the ravishing forms of the Princess.

On display.

For him.

"Take what is yours, my Lord and Master. What belongs to you by right of conquest."

The Nameless One was again a statue. An enormous flesh statue, rapt in the vision of the sheer beauty.

"But I shall not fight, my Lord and Master."

The statue flinched.

"I shall not fight to escape your fingers, your hand, your mouth. Your taking possession of me. I shall not fight to strive to keep you from taking me by violence. I shall not fight to strive to prevent you from bending me to your cravings by force."

The statue did not move.

"I shall be a piece of inert flesh."

The statue did not speak.

"And nothing more."

The statue did not breathe.

"And, as you said, my Master and Lord…" The Princess raised fiercely her head, and smiled, proud and contemptuous. "Without fight, there is no pleasure."

* * *

 **(*)** _Eh, my friends. Forgive, I beg you, your devoted servant, but, here, it would be really expedient for you to have a look at my story_ _ **"Destiny."**_

 _Don't get angry with me, please, but you have to understand that what I relate about Trip and T'Pol is a continuum and sometimes references arise spontaneous and essential, while I devote myself to tell their adventures._

 _ **End of Chapter Twenty-two**_

 _ **TBC**_

 **ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo**

 _ **Oh oh! But our Princess... is she sure to know what she is doing?**_

 _ **You know, she can also have entered the heart of the Nameless One (assuming he still has a heart) without him realizing it yet, but, in any case, it just doesn't seem he's a little chap to be trifled with!**_

 _ **Mh... we will see, my friends. We'll see.**_


	23. The Ears of the Elves - Chapter 23

**The Ears of the Elves**

 **By Asso**

 **Chapter Twenty-three**

* * *

 _The robe was opened, began to disclose its secrets._

 _But it still takes time for these secrets to be fully revealed._

 _Why?_

 _Well, my friends, there are good reasons._

 _Trip and T'Pol have good reasons._

 _Excellent reasons._

* * *

 **The Ears of the Elves**

 **Chapter Twenty-three**

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

"Oh finally! It was time!"

By a hair's breadth, T'Pol didn't slip away from Trip's lap at his jolt.

"Trip! Are you going to let me fall back to the ground?"

"Oh excuse me! Excuse me, sweetheart! Excuse me!"

Trip pulled himself together with some embarrassment and, while trying to ignore T'Pol's raised eyebrow, he made sure with great care that she could curl up again with all ease and well comfortably in his lap, in the heat, under the blanket. And… with his hand still enjoying the softness of her breast.

As she, rather miffed in truth – and, well, one could see! - won back her position, Trip's aforecited hand, almost by its own will, started to stroke gently the aforesaid breast, which led T'Pol to throw her irritation into the drawer of the unimportant matters with instantaneous quickness and to engage gaspingly in the vulcan art of self-control with an implementation difficulty that defining merely of remarkable degree would mean lying deliberately lying.

Oh well! One has to understand. For Trip, an act of this kind was normal, natural, in a sense. It was a gesture, impulsive and unconscious, of affection, of _intimate_ affection, as it was normal and natural that it was between them.

Now, not that for T'Pol it was not so. Eh, lot and lot and lot of water had flowed under the bridge since she had found herself being not even capable of having true consciousness of the powerful feeling that was rising in her heart for Trip. And that intimacy, the intimacy of that gesture, as well as of so many other gestures, of so many… _other_ things that passed between the two of them, was marvellous. It was an intimacy that T'Pol, much as Vulcan she could be, found herself at times in the necessity to define to herself as… magical. It was an intimacy that she alone, among all Vulcans, she, who had a human bond mate, could savour and enjoy and relish.

But, at that time, that gesture on Trip's part, so natural, so spontaneous, so intimate, produced in her a very particular effect, an effect that went beyond the unique intimacy of the gesture.

Could it have been that the two of them were alone, the one with the other and especially the one _for_ the other, something that they could enjoy very rarely? Could it have been what, in that evening, had already been between them and that was not yet finished? The expectation for the… dessert that would gloriously ended their evening?

Or could it have been the result of their reading together that so special fable? The particular state of T'Pol's mind, her desire, perhaps her unconscious urge, _her longing_ , to show to Trip how much she was his and how much she wanted him, now more than ever, now that, in the light of the fable, besides and perhaps even over than in the light of their vicissitudes with the King, both had understood that she had belonged to him since forever, that since forever she was his? **()**

It could have been all of that and only God or the devil know what else, but the fact is that T'Pol, in being caressed by Trip that way and not intentionally, not for a specific purpose, not for the purpose that a caress like that one, of such a kind, could fatally let imagine, felt within herself a desire, _a craving_ , to give herself to him more intense and more pressing and more acute and more domineering than she had ever felt.

Even higher than the one which had pushed her to seduce him shamelessly and bluntly.

A pining such as to becloud her intellect.

A yearning that would have found its proper place in a Pon-Farr.

And just as she struggled to dominate, to counter this irrepressible desire, to control in some way both her desire and, even more, herself, he...

"Sweetie..." He kissed softly her head, while his hand, unaware of what it was getting up to, not to mention what it was inadvertently causing, continued quietly and gently to caress her bare breast, going even so far as to fiddle with her nipple without even realizing it, which led T'Pol almost to quiver in the effort to resist the urge to pounce on top of him. "You must understand. An act of rebellion at last! An act worthy of the princess that the Princess Alel is. Maybe she will have to pay dearly such an act, but, damnit, what a satisfaction! Stick that in your pipe and smoke it, you bastard of a Nameless One!"

T'Pol, at that moment, to say it all, quite indifferent to trying to translate into an intelligible logical mental structure what she confusedly figured out that Trip's idiomatic statement wanted to mean, in the meantime that her hand (with an indifference admirably exhibited but, however, undeniably accompanied by a rather considerable, and rather poorly concealed, quantity of impetuous hurry) grabbed that of Trip to block it from continuing to perform its perturbing action, strove to say something in response.

"S... sure... I... huff... I un… I un… I understand you, Aaaadun... b... b... b… b… but..."

Fortunately Trip was too overheated to notice T'Pol's babble, nor, even less, the covert aim of her hand, or else - Surak forbid! – she, as if those she that had habitually to face on his part were not enough already, wouldn't have managed to save herself from his jests ever again! And countering him by giving him tit for tat in return, as she had learned to do, in the attempt to divert his attention... well, it would have been very little fruitful, just not to say at all futile. Her T'hai'la had a huge pile of defects, even if she (damn her!) had ended up loving all of them, but certainly he had no lack of intelligence and for sure it wouldn't escape him how things stood. It would have been tinder for the fire of his mockeries. It was her who had wanted his hand… _there_ , right? And now she was unable to handle the foreseeable... logical consequences?

In effect, Trip's fervency not only prevented him from noticing T'Pol's gabblements as well as her efforts for self-control, but it also didn't let her complete her answer and if, actually, on the one hand it's to be believed that this has been all in all a good thing, because, subjected to the insidious albeit unwitting attack of Trip, she wouldn't have surely been able to put enough order in her head to give some sort of actual meaning to what she was saying and that, in practice, not even she knew where it was driving at, on the other hand… well, on the other…

On the other, the matter is that, in reality, things got worse. And not a little.

Eh sure, because Trip's excitement was such that he didn't notice at all what was going on and so…

"Oh, by God! Now I understand!"

This way he burst out back to talk with cheerful enthusiasm, virtually as if T'Pol hadn't even given the slightest sign she was speaking or trying to do so and, in his fervour, he, with his intrusive hand, squeezed gaily her breast, with the result that in very truth she found herself raising within herself, to whom you don't know, what for a Human would have been a fervent plea. Something like… _Oh no! No! Make him stop! Make him stop!_

But her prayer went unheard.

Trip burst forth again. "Sure! I realized!"

And his hand underlined his exclamation with a further good squeeze.

And it did not stop. It continued its affectionate and impulsive squeezing, unconscious of the turmoil that it was eliciting, its palm compressing merrily her responsive nipple.

And at this point, sweat beads started to form on T'Pol's forehead.

And that's not falsehood!

Vaguely, she heard that Trip was talking again - "Yes, honey. Now I understand what you meant." - while his hand was proceeding with its unconscious, disruptive game. But her mind had difficulty to process his words.

Her mind, at that moment, was completely busy in quite different matters.

It was desperately trying to fight the tremendous, overwhelming arousal that Trip's hand, with its unconscious sensual action, was eliciting in her.

But there was something else, too.

We must not forget it. T'Pol was a Vulcan, and a Vulcan extremely smart, with a trained mind and sophisticated, maybe even too much. A mind that, even swept out by the storm, was still able to retain a bit of lucidity. And so her mind, even in the midst of the most violent of tempests, all of a sudden, understood.

Sure, there was something else, something more. Much more.

T'Pol's mind brightened.

That arousal… that incoercible arousal she felt… an arousal that would have been perfectly fitting in a Pon-Farr…

Certainly, there was no need for any Pon-Farr to make her prey of the most total rapture for her Trip. She was really his. Entirely. Katra and body. But in a Pon-Farr, her Katra and... and especially her body would have been his even more! Vastly more! Immensely more! Frighteningly more! And if it was already normal that her Katra and her body responded to his… solicitations, in… in a Pon-Farr, every thought of him, every gesture, conscious or unconscious, of him, would have provoked a consuming fire!

As it was logical that a vulcan female, that a vulcan wife, a veritable vulcan wife, as she de facto was, could not do anything else but do with her man. Her husband.

And obviously provided that this wife was tied to this husband by the bond, and extremely strongly. In other words, provided that she was really in Ashaya... _in love!_... with him! Katra and body!

And if there was a vulcan female and wife madly, hopelessly, passionately in love, Katra and body, with her husband... this one... it was her! T'Pol!

So then... so then...

So then, it had begun! Her Pon-Farr! The first! The true one! Not the absurd and fake one that had been triggered by that damn infection! Fortunately without consequences! Even if her mind at that moment had been so addled in the grip of a Pon-Farr that had nothing natural, that... that it had… had confused Phlox and even Malcolm Reed with Trip! She, unfortunately, had a vague and awfully unpleasant memory of that, and, regrettably, also the memory - horrible! - that her brain literally... literally in mush, had reached the point of pushing her to ask them... to ask them something that only Trip could give her! What a shame! What an immense shame! **(())**

This one... this one, no. This did not send her brain in mash. This sharpened her senses, magnified her desires, her compulsions, but did not ship her in the realm of the mindless ones! This was a real Pon-Farr. Her first true Pon-Farr.

And it was perfectly understandable, it was logical, that it was happening to her. She had a bond mate, now. A bond mate whom she loved to madness and who to madness loved her. Sooner or later... sooner or later it had to happen that he would have unleashed in her the incendiary spark of the Pon-Farr!

Why just now? Perhaps just because of that fairy tale and all that it implied. Perhaps because of the circumstances. Perhaps because of all that had already nebulously crossed her mind. And perhaps simply because the time had come. Without any specific reason.

In any case, it was happening.

It was just at the beginning, to the point that she had found it hard to understand.

But it was starting.

And so... everything became clear.

Her Katra was responding to her love for him, for her Adun, in the initial but already impetuous vortex of her Pon-Farr, shaping itself on it, on her love for him. And her body was doing the same. It too was responding to her love for him; it too was shaping itself on it.

In the way that a body can respond to love.

T'Pol felt overwhelmed. Wonderfully overwhelmed.

All this… all this was beautiful. Was splendid! Wondrous! Magnificent!

It was the affirmation of her being in all respects a true vulcan woman and, at the same time, of being something more, much more. Of being - _simply?_ \- a woman. Loved. And in love.

It was the consecration of their bond! It was the seal of their love!

But… but it was terribly difficult to handle!

Practically impossible!

Yes, virtually impossible.

Without his help.

Even in this.

As in everything else.

So T'Pol realized she had to do the only thing she could do.

And she did.

She told Trip about it.

Without looking up at him. In a hoarse voice. Totally ignoring the words he had just uttered and, after all, only confusedly heard by her, but certainly not really listened.

"Trip, keep your hand steady, please."

A thousand miles away as he was from what was stirring within T'Pol and all taken by his fervour, Trip stood totally gobsmacked. Fortunately, even his hand stood dumbfounded. And it stopped.

"Huh?"

With an audible sigh of relief, T'Pol replied, still not looking at him.

"I said..."

"Yes, yes, I understand. T'Pol. I'm sorry I bothered you."

T'Pol lifted vehemently her eyes to Trip.

"You did not bother me at all, Adun!"

"But... but then why ...?"

"Because ..." T'Pol swallowed. "...I would wait a little bit yet for the dessert."

"What?"

T'Pol sighed again. It was time for him to understand. Just as she had understood.

It was time for him to understand all the way the true, the real power he had over her, a far stronger power than the power that the unwritten vulcan law sanctioned that a husband had over his wife.

 _It was time for him to understand how great was his responsibility._

Because... T'Pol felt almost ashamed, but also she felt joy and pride... because he was not only the refuge where she could find shelter from everything and everyone, including herself, her emotions.

He... what she had felt under the touch of his hand had brought her to fully realize... he was... no, _she_ was...

T'Pol lowered her eyes, closed them, clung to him.

"Trip, I am clay in your hands."

"Wha... what?"

T'Pol snuggled very well in his lap.

She had to make him understand that it was... it was a beautiful thing. Burdensome for him. Onerous. Demanding. But beautiful. _Extremely_ beautiful.

Something that had to make him proud, so proud that more it's impossible, because if, as many times he had said to her and had made her understand even with the facts, his maximum desire was that she could love him, of course, and, if she so wished, even that she could love him like a human female can love, but without becoming different from what she was, a Vulcan female, the Vulcan female he loved... well, if this was his greatest desire, he had fully achieved his goal.

T'Pol looked up at him. He was watching her, his eyes intent, the PADD in one hand and with the other arm now around her shoulders.

She did not prevent her lips from smiling. And even her voice from doing it.

"I had various signs, in the past, but now I have reached certainty. I mean of the fact that the potency of what you are able to arouse in me goes, I am sure of that, far beyond normality, I mean far beyond what normally occurs in a woman when her man... when her man shows tangibly to her his passion for her. Yes, I had the perception, but I didn't realize. Now I have realized. Now I have the certainty, and... and I have the certainty also about… something else, something definitely deserving the maximum of our attention. Your hand, Adun, made me reach this certainty. What it made me feel."

Trip did not speak. He waited.

"Your hand, Adun, caressed my breast, played with my nipple, squeezed my breast with affection. It did it so many times, T'hai'la. Your hand, your _hands_ , your lips have caressed and kissed and sucked my breasts and… and all the rest of me so many times. Every time we made love. But this time, we were not making love, this time you had not in mind to give me pleasure, this time you were just showing your affection for me. In your own way. And you did it absentmindedly, without thinking about what you were doing. But I, Trip… I am a Vulcan, exactly how you want me to be. And you are my bond mate. My soul mate, if you will. But in any case, the vulcan bond, the bond of vulcan Ashaya, ties the two of us to each other. And that distinguishes you from every other Human, just as it distinguishes me from every other Vulcan, because no Human can create a bond, only a Vulcan can do it, but it is equally true that no Vulcan before me has created a bond with a Human, nor with any member of another species. "

Trip continued to remain silent. Only, his eyes furrowed, in the intensity of his attention.

"There is not much talk of the bond among the Vulcans, you know it, Adun. Neither did I believe it, honestly, as long as I did not have to touch with hand. It is said, however, _it is known_ , that not all the bonds are equal, that there are deep and less deep bonds.

T'Pol looked at Trip with highly serious expression.

"Ours, my Ashal-veh, is an extremely deep bond. We knew this already. Do you remember, K-diwa, when I told you that our bond is so deep that its breaking might hesitate in madness or even death, as Phlox had explained to me? But it, my Adun, is even deeper than how Phlox brought me to realize." **((()))**

If possible, T'Pol's expression became even more serious.

"Ours, my T'hai'la, where everything we have had to pass through in our adventure with the King, where what you did by eluding death for me, were not enough already to prove it, is a bond such as the one which only between two spirits that are one only spirit can exist. That's why you can have the perception of what I'm and feel deep down inside me. That's why I can have the perception of what you are and feel deep down inside you. But, between us two, the Vulcan it's me, Trip. It's me the one who, inevitably, is affected by the bond to a greater extent. And... and I'm a female, Trip. A vulcan female. Subject, inevitably, to... to..."

T'Pol paused, under the attentive gaze of Trip, who was beginning to vaguely sense something of what lurked in the clumsy phrasings of T'Pol.

Then she burst out talking all in one breath.

"Trip, you've started my Pon-Farr."

" **WHAT!?** "

"It's so, Adun. I'm your woman and I'm Vulcan. The bond that exists between us is such as to go beyond all barriers, even beyond the barrier which separates my biology from yours. So... you've triggered my first Pon-Farr."

"Oh God of heaven, T'Pol!"

"I had some difficulty to understand it, because what should have let me realize, and which, afterwards, actually did it, inevitably produced a… certain degree of loss of lucidity in my brain."

"Huh?"

T'Pol hid her face against Trip's chest. It was not easy, despite everything. Of course, he was... him. But... but she was going to confess to him the most intimate thing that could exist for a Vulcan. She was going to disclose herself to him as never she had done. She was going to go through the last barrier. Was about to lower totally her defences.

But then... T'Pol sighed heavily against Trip's chest... why should she have had defences? And with him? The only real defence for her... it was him.

And, now, more than ever!

She lifted her face from his chest and looked at him with two eyes that, to Trip, appeared deeper than sea.

"Trip, I feel the effects of any stimulus, wanted or unwanted, conscious or unconscious, that you trigger off in me!"

"Eh?"

"As... as the irresistible excitement, the overwhelming arousal that I have felt, to the point to fog my brain, under the caresses of your hand!"

"Oh for Pete's sake! T'Pol! Forgive me! I... I did not want..."

T'Pol raised her bust and took Trip's hand.

"Trip, there is nothing to apologize for! It is... it is a grandiose thing! I... feel completely fulfilled as a woman and as a vulcan woman! You have given me... you _give_ me... everything can make me a woman such as the woman I want to be. _Your_ _woman_. _Your vulcan woman._ "

Trip was literally speechless.

"Do you see, therefore, my Adun, why I said that I am clay in your hands? My katra… and my body… arrange themselves and model themselves on any stimulus you can induce in me. You really can mold me as clay."

Trip sought to find the breath to articulate a few words. But he could not.

"But this is not a bad thing, Adun, that's good, is something wonderful, something that perhaps only one in a million, to be generous, among the vulcan females can have the joy and pride of experiencing!"

Trip managed again to speak. He tried, at least.

"Are you... are you… are you s… s… serious, T'Pol?"

"Yes, T'hai'la, I talk absolutely seriously. By sharing my life with yours, even letting aside the influence of the bond in itself, I have learned to joke around, but on this I'm not joking at all."

"Ah... well..."

"But this ..." T'Pol lowered her eyes for a moment, then raised them to stare at Trip in the face. "... this gives you a huge responsibility towards me."

Again, Trip said nothing. He understood what T'Pol meant, but waited for her to confirm.

"You are my Husband and Lord, Trip. And this is true. But you're also a lot more. You're my bond mate, and you're a bond mate evidently of the highest level and, as such, you must behave toward me. I, now, depend on you in all respects, even more than we could imagine. And I don't deplore this, Trip, I don't harbour any grievance. _I am happy about this!_ It is the path of my species, the _biological_ path of my species, and consequently the fact that I, thanks to you, have fulfilled it, can only make me satisfied and contented. But you, my K'diwa, you... yes, I know, you've always done it... but now... now, you... you have to do it even more. You...

And T'Pol squeezed strongly Trip's hand. "You have to take care of me."

T'Pol fell silent some instants, her hand still clutching that of Trip, her eyes fixed on his.

And then she completed.

"In everything and for everything, Trip. In every minimal thing. I am what you want me to be. You can do with me what you want. If you do not take care of me, I'm lost."

T'Pol paused again, then she spelled out with force her last statement.

"And there's no going back, nor do I want that."

There was a long silence.

Trip finally broke it. And he didn't falter at all. He spoke in a grave voice.

"Do you think I will be able, T'Pol?"

T'Pol crouched back in Trip's lap. She didn't close her eyes as she leaned her head against his chest. And those eyes sparkled, as she answered.

"There is no doubt whatsoever, Adun."

Silence fell again. A silence... extremely sweet. But also full of thoughts. Thoughts of Trip. Sweet they too. As the silence in which they hovered soft and light.

From her position in his lap, T'Pol could feel Trip's brain work hard.

Until...

"T'Pol, darling..." Oh Surak! Had his voice ever been so sweet? "I guess ..." He laughed. Softly."... I guess that it is appropriate to postpone the dessert at a later time, is not it?"

Without understanding, T'Pol replied candidly. "Of course, as we agreed. At the end of our reading."

"Oh... um... no." Trip chuckled. A laugh that, somehow, sounded a bit embarrassed. "I meant somewhat later on in time."

T'Pol raised an amazed and perplexed gaze to Trip. "Eh? But why?"

Trip cleared his throat.

"Oh well, here. I mean... better to tread carefully, right? Given the novelty! I would not... I would not go overboard with... with the stimuli. Not that I intend to give up our effusivenesses, God help us! However... however… I mean... perhaps it is better to proceed gradually. Some... some little kisses, here. At least for now. Maybe even a few caresses. Not... not too much... risqué. And then, slowly, a stepwise crescendo of dosage. So that... ahem... so that I can get the hang of the new situation. I mean... so that… so that I can become acquainted with the way… with the way that I must… I must behave now!"

For a moment T'Pol stood silent, while her brain was elaborating with some difficulty the bizarre arguments of Trip, then, once she managed to do it, she could not help but do it.

She laughed in turn, and not in a low voice. She laughed in the warmth of his arms. She laughed with happiness.

Her Trip. Oh her Trip! Her Ashal-veh! Her K-diwa! Her T'hai'la! Her Adun! Her unique, wonderful bond mate! But what other bond mate would ever have been able to hold a candle to him? No one. NO ONE! There was certainly no wonder that he - he and no one else! - had been able to pull the trigger of her Pon Farr! He was the ultimate, the supreme among all bond mates! He was the one who really had care of her! A care that went far beyond what was even only vaguely imaginable! He was the one for whom she was the centre of all his thoughts! No! He was the one for whom she was _**the**_ thought! The very thought!

She hugged him tightly. She clung to him. Very tightly.

She spoke. Her voice cracking with affection and emotion.

"Oh Trip! Before, when you were doing what… you were doing, you weren't doing it with the intention to excite me, to heighten my pleasure to make love with you; and, normally, that is if I had not entered into my Pon-Farr, I'd have been excited, yes, but not to the point I was, or, better said, I would have been able to handle in some way my arousal. Now I'm no longer able, if I ever have been. Your power over me doesn't allow me. Okay. Alright. However, Adun, what problem can there ever be if this happens when we, both, can rejoice for it to happen? What problem can there ever be if my desire for you increases furiously the moment when we two - you, the only one able to shape my craving for you, and I, eager for you to do it - are making love?"

T'Pol lifted her face to gently caress Trip's cheek with her lips.

"And then, Adun, it's only the beginning of my Pon-Farr. There is no reason to think that, for now, now that you've figured out how the great power you have over me has become even greater, things should turn out differently from the way they did before. It takes time before I enter fully into my Pon-Farr. We can… confidently enjoy our dessert and, when we will want to savour it, it will be a very sweet dessert, sweeter and more beautiful than it would have been before. Simply, you will have to take care of me more than you are used to do, because every action, every gesture, every thought you can have on me, will produce in me far keener… effects… than it has happened so far. But, as I have already said, there can be no doubt whatsoever about the care you will have for me, my beloved. And your tender words fully confirm my conviction."

T'Pol took a breath for a moment, then, tightly clutching her Trip, she completed her revelations, her voice low and husky, and full of emotion.

"Certainly, things will get more complicated, Adun. I have no experience, I can only speak for what I can know from the little that my breed fellows tend to say on the subject, about which they, including... including my... late mother, are not at all inclined to talk and on which the scientific texts themselves tend to be quite reticent. It is the most exclusive and secret field for physicians and healers and high-ranking monks. But something I know."

T'Pol sighed heavily, in Trip's arms.

Okay. The moment had come. She was about to disclose to him, to her Adun, the most intimate of Vulcans' secrets, namely the way the rational Vulcans were forced, by a nature eager to avenge herself of their pompous conceit to subjugate her to their vaunted and flaunted rationality, to lose their head during their Pon-Farr, as it had been since the beginning of time and as it had continued to be a fortiori also after Surak's logic revolution, on pain of the extinction of the species. The males in one way, and... the females in another. But the moment had come, in the end. And it was really time!

"I Know, Adun, that little by little the thing will increase in intensity and that it will reach its peak when I will be right in the midst of my Pon-Farr. And it will be at that point that you will need to have towards me the utmost care, because, at that moment, I… I won't really be capable of understanding anything anymore even only if you will skim me with your gaze. Indeed, there will not even need of this as well as of anything else. The only thing I'll want will be…"

T'Pol paused. It was hard to tell. Yet it was beautiful. It was wonderfully beautiful!

"…will be of being possessed by you. Continuously. Incessantly. Restlessly."

T'Pol paused again. Briefly.

Then she gave breath to her latest revelation.

"And it will be you who will have to administer my blind craving for being possessed by you."

To his credit, it is to be acknowledged that Trip managed to maintain a certain self-control. Indeed he was able to speak without stumbling then too much in his own words.

"Ah… ah… ah here. Yyyyes. Of course. I… I understand."

Then, after these laborious words, he remained strangely quiet and T'Pol felt that his brain was working hard again.

She lifted her head to look at him and, with a hand, she made him lower his face toward her.

"Adun?"

"T'Pol..."

"Yes, T'hai'la?"

"Well here... I will certainly take care of you, but..."

"But?"

"Well, I mean... see, you too, to take care of me."

For a moment T'Pol watched bewildered Trip.

Then she understood.

And she laughed again. Seriously. With all her heart.

Trip, puzzled, watched her laughing, without understanding.

"T'Pol? What the hell ..."

"Oh, T'hai'la!"

T'Pol pulled down his face, so that she could kiss him. Then she stroked his cheek sweetly.

Finally. The last secret was about to be revealed. And T'Pol's heart felt delightfully light at the thought of doing it.

"T'hai'la, what is being said is true. The Blood Fever, the Plak tow, exists among Vulcans, there is the amok time. But it's the Vulcan males to suffer from it and, if anything, what can happen is that, in the throes of their uncontrollable urge, they can arrive even to hurt, even horribly, the women with whom they mate. And, allow me, this is a very appropriate term in this case."

T'Pol's face clouded over, her eyes grew sad, shameful even, so much so that she had to lower her gaze. "Not... not too much difference, sometimes, compared to violence. To... to the most brutal rape."

But, immediately, she raised again her look at Trip and watched him with sparkling eyes, as her mouth opened up slightly with a soft smile. "Nothing to do with the gentle heat of our amorous encounters, as much as vehement and impetuous they can be, my Adun."

Trip, strangely, didn't catch minimally T'Pol's tender assertion. He jumped out talking with real scare.

"T'Pol! You mean... you mean that if you had really gone to end in the arms of that rotter in the guise of a Vulcan who was Koss, you could have... he could have ..."

T'Pol kissed Trip again. Gently and softly.

"Yes, it could have happened. But it did not happen. And never could it have happened. He would have had to find another woman to appease his fever because I... I'd have driven him away with blows of bludgeon!"

T'Pol gently rubbed her lips on those of Trip.

"My bond mate, Trip, it's you. And you're the only one who can trigger my Pon-Farr."

Her face became again quite serious.

"You are the only one who can mold the ardent clay of my desire."

Once again there was silence.

What else could ever be said?

Trip stood for long instants to look into the depth of the marvellous eyes of... of the wonderful thing that a benign fate had wanted to give him.

How much trouble! How much! How much perilous and laborious and hard had been the road he had persisted to tread!

But now...

Now...

Was there one man, one man only, in the entire universe, who could be said being luckier and happier than him?

 _Come forward, if you exist! Come forward!_

But Trip knew that his was an empty appeal.

That man did not exist.

Finally he settled down blissfully on the sofa, the sweet weight of the immense treasure entrusted to him, on his lap, tight to him. Warm. Alive. Vibrant. Superb.

While his hand absently and affectionately stroked her soft hair, almost without thinking he gave body to his sweet thoughts.

"Okay. Perfect. However... mh... better to take some precautions. How long..."

He lowered his gaze on T'Pol. "...How long will it take before you enter into the heart of your Pon-Farr, honey?"

T'Pol snuggled happy in his arms. "Oh, I do not know." Her voice was warm and low, dreamy, almost absent-minded. "A few weeks. A month. Something more. I do not know, Adun."

"Mh, maybe Phlox can give us some answers."

"Maybe."

"We'd better ask him."

"Yes, you're right, Adun. We'd better."

"Also because... ahem... also because maybe... maybe it wouldn't be not at all a bad thing that he, acting as the medical officer and under the aegis of professional secrecy, can provide us in good time with appropriate justifications and means such that we can just... we can just stay in peace, away from everyone... when you... when you..."

"Yes. It's true. We must talk to him."

"O well! We agree then. Tomorrow we will go to talk to Phlox."

"Yes, T'hai'la, not least because ..."

T'Pol broke off.

Trip's hand stopped stroking her hair.

There was something...

He sensed something...

"Not least because... what, honey?"

T'Pol straightened up on his knees. Her bust flourished lush and beautiful from the blanket, slipped down.

Her face turned to Trip with an indecipherable expression, yet wonderfully sweet, painted on it, an expression that seemed to Trip suffused with tremulous joy.

Her eyes sparkled, glittered like stars.

"Trip, I'm sure you know it, but, probably in the excitement of what is happening, it seems that it's escaping you that Pon-Farr has a specific purpose."

Trip's eyes widened in the sudden understanding.

T'Pol tenderly stroked his cheek.

"Adun, I'm entering my period of fertility."

One, two, three, four, five seconds.

T'Pol began to be a little worried.

"Trip! Do you say nothing? Why are you looking at me mouth agape without uttering a word?"

Trip closed abruptly his mouth. He gulped. Gasped. Managed to babble something at the end.

"Aaaaaa ch ch child? Do you... do you... do you want us to try to... to try to...? Do you mean… do you mean this, my love? You mean..."

The shadow, not even too vague, of a sly smile suffused T'Pol's lips.

"If I remember correctly, Adun, you want from me a discrete quantity of offspring, so it is best to get busy, do not you think? My Pon-Farr is not an everyday thing." **(((())))**

"T'Pol! You... I... we... you…"

"What are you trying to say, T'hai'la?"

"You... you want... you want to give me a baby?"

"What a question! Of course I want! Could you ever think that I do not want to do that? Have I ever said or done anything that could be contrary to the promise that we exchanged that night, during our shore leave?"

"Oh yes! Sure! Yes! Of course! What an ass! Naturally! What an idiot! But... but... but..."

"But what, Adun?"

"Will it be possible? I mean, our... our genes... "

"Trip." T'Pol's gaze darkened with sadness. "Do you remember... do you remember what you yourself told me that Phlox had told you when... when our Elizabeth...?"

T'Pol did not finish the sentence. And how could she ever do it?

Trip's arms snapped. They hugged her very tightly.

"Yes. Yes! I remember it, my love! I remember it well! I remember that he said it would not be impossible a hybrid between our two species!"

T'Pol sniffed, enfolded in Trip's hug.

"We have to trust Phlox, Adun. After all... after all, in the other universe, he has found a way to allow the birth of Lorian. Of... our son, my beloved."

Trip's voice sprang up loud. Serious. Determined. Categorical. "Tomorrow we're going to talk for sure with Phlox."

T'Pol snuggled into his embrace. "Yes. Tomorrow we'll do it." Then, a soft sound from her. The unmistakable sound of a giggle. "Tomorrow. After we will have digested well our dessert."

Trip laughed softly with her. "Sure. Tomorrow, Hon. After a suitably long time period for a proper digestion. "

"Yes. Tomorrow, Adun." Suddenly her voice became thoughtful. "Tomorrow. After we will have read the fable in its entirely."

Trip distanced T'Pol a little from him, in order to be able to look at her in the face

"Yeah, sure. The fable. Almost forgot. But, T'Pol, I... do not know if I still have enough head to dedicate myself to its reading."

"Oh." T'Pol watched serious him. "Maybe you've forgotten that the tale comes to children, Adun. Children like those who could be ours."

Trip looked at T'Pol intently.

And here they were back there. At that statement. That recurring, persistent statement from her. What was there under that statement to which T'Pol got back so often? Trip understood well that there was something, hidden within its folds, something more than what that statement meant in and of itself. Eh sure, because by now it was more than clear that children would be born from the Nameless One and the Princess, even though he really had not little trouble to imagine how, being things as they were now, at that point of reading. They - the Princess and, above all, the Nameless One - still had to go along a very long road. And... well... Trip kept wondering how the hell could those children not be children of evil, despite what T'Pol had told him.

Anyway, being established that children there would have been, why was T'Pol continuing insisting so much on this issue? And indeed, why was she using this argument to induce him to pay attention again to the fairy tale? Would not it have been more logical to exert leverage on the mystery inclosed in the fable? Namely the enigma about how it was possible that the drafters of the tale could only be the two of them? As T'Pol herself had come to ascertain with her iron logic? And about why they - who knows how, who knows where, who knows when - had done that? And about what they wanted themselves to do?

It was obvious, it was more than obvious, that children born from those two, the Princess and the Nameless One, would be hybrids, just like hybrids would the children born from the two of them, from him, Trip, and from her, from his T'Pol.

So then, why that insistence? What else was there? Was this one the cause of the befuddlement shown by T'Pol at the beginning? Before the justifiable bewilderment deriving from the realization that, only the devil knew in what way, the storytellers at the base of that headache-inducing fable were the two of them? Just the two of them, him and her? Trip and T'Pol?

Was… was it the case, by chance, to decide once and for all and to ask her directly? Without beating about the bush?

Mh, no. Very likely no. Indeed, _certainly_ no. It was not this what she wanted, because, otherwise, knowing her, she would already come to the point.

She wanted, instead, him to arrive to the core just as it had happened to her, viz by proceeding in the reading of the fairy tale.

Evidently it was important for her that it were so. Why?

Well, maybe the same reasons that had caused her initial dismay would also have been able to explain why she wanted them to proceed so, but, whatever it was ... - Trip smiled to himself - ... whatever it was, she wanted them to proceed so. And he couldn't certainly disgruntle her. Now less than ever.

He - the inner smile flourished openly on her lips - had to take care of her.

 _In everything and for everything. In every minimal thing._

"All right, all right, honey." He tenderly caressed her cheek. "I'll see to recover my head, if you please that we continue to read the fairy tale. Okay?"

T'Pol rubbed her cheek against the rough and yet so pleasing and so magically delicate hand of him. "Okay."

"Oh, then. Let's see." Trip took on a slyly pensive expression. "In which position do we put ourselves?"

T'Pol replied promptly. "In the same position as before, Adun."

"Ah, okay. Maybe, though, with my hand somewhere else, right?"

T'Pol watched Trip with an expression that more vulcan-like than that could not have been. "I do not see why, T'hai'la. Do I have to assume that my powerful and self-confident Husband and Master, so strong-willed and self-possessed, is not able to hold it steady?"

Trip chuckled. "Okay, okay. Touché." He winked at her. "It will be a tough test, but I will work hard to find the right concentration."

T'Pol said nothing. She just went back to the same, identical position of before and, this done, she watched Trip from below, expectantly.

Trip smiled softly. He pulled the blanket up to cover them both again and, with some contortion, he then repositioned his hand where it was before, gently and holding it well steady.

T'Pol, and it is no lie, purred like a kitty.

Her head was swirling and yet was at peace. It's hard to believe, but, perhaps, not so much.

 _A whirlwind of thoughts, in her head._

She had entered her first Pon Farr!

Her Adun had opened her the doors of her first real Pon-Farr.

And now she was ready, or nearly so. Just a little while yet and she could do it.

She would give him a child!

And she would make it!

A child! A child! A child! A child!

T'Pol closed her eyes, blissful.

 _A peace with no equal, in her head._

A child. A child, of her and of him.

Oh yes. She would give him a child!

And she would make it!

She, together with him!

They, together, would make it!

T'Pol smiled, sweetly, eyes closed, hugging him.

Picture of happiness.

Trip stood silently watching her smile, her face, resting on his chest, and enjoying the warmth of her naked body tight to his under the blanket.

She was... was beautiful!

She was gorgeous!

And was his!

And would give him a child!

A child! A child! A child! A child!

Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes!

She would give him a child!

She would make it!

She, along with him!

They, together, would make it!

T'Pol's voice shook him out.

"Do not you read, Adun?"

"Oh, yes! Yes. Sure. So, let's see. Where ..."

"Adun?"

"Yes honey?"

"I'm not sure, I had... some problems with concentration, at that time, but I seem to remember you said something... I do not know... you said that you..."

"Ah yes sure. I said that I had understood."

"Ah here. And what had you understood, T'hai'la?"

"What you meant to say."

"Ah. And what did I mean to say? "

"I was referring to what you meant when you said that the Princess would open and let slip to the ground her robe with intentions different than those you had when you did it with me."

"Ah here."

"Yeah. Actually her intentions were quite different. Not an... ahem... not an act of seduction, but an act of defiance.

"Oh ... er ... that's right."

"However...

"However, Adun?"

"I miss the rest of what you said, still talking about the... opening of the robe."

"That is to say?"

"Well, honestly you have been a bit confused, T'Pol. I do not know, as if you meant that, though, after all..."

"The intentions of the Princess differed and yet at the same time they did not differ from mine?"

"Just like that. I got this impression and now you're telling me that I actually had not misheard. But it makes no sense."

"Well, T'hai'la..." T'Pol opened her eyes and looked archly at Trip. "... if it is true that in the Princess something for the Nameless One was born from the first moment she saw him, just as it happened to me for you from the first moment I saw you, it is not so nonsensical to think that her gesture can also have some ulterior motive, although in reality she's not even conscious that it can be so."

"Oh my gosh! You women... you women are tremendous! You know one more than the devil!"

"You mean, Adun, that I know one more than you, who're _really_ the devil?"

"The point is, sweetie, that, additionally, you not only are a woman, and, believe me, a woman who, more woman than so, there can't be." T'Pol felt inside a shiver of pleasure, at hearing those words, as she waited for Trip to complete the quip she knew he was going to make. "The point is that you are also a she-devil, and therefore..."

T'Pol's eyes twinkled with mischief. "And therefore, as such, I know _more_ than only one more than you, Adun."

"Trip laughed heartily." That's right, she-devil of a Vulcan wife! "

"Mh." T'Pol assumed a very concentrated air. "It is to be presumed that the Princess, being me, can have something in common with me in this regard too."

"Oh poor Nameless One!"

T'Pol sighed heavily. Her eyes lost their impish and mischievous air, as well as her voice. "Not... not so poor, Adun. He... he's you. But he's not you already."

"Ah." Even Trip's expression turned serious. "I understand. He won't let the Princess hoodwink him, eh, T'Pol?"

"No. He… won't."

"He will get what he wants."

"He... he will."

"The fight?"

T'Pol did not reply, this time. But her eyes said no.

"The… pleasure?"

T'Pol continued to remain silent. But her eyes said yes.

"But…" It looked like a restrained roar, Trip's voice. "…what pleasure might he draw from a piece of inert flesh?"

Once more T'Pol did not answer. But she looked away.

"Oh." Trip nodded grimly. "The blackmail."

T'Pol sighed again. She turned two sad eyes on Trip. "Keep reading, Adun."

Trip sighed in turn, gloomily.

"Alright, T'Pol."

* * *

 _ **End of Chapter Twenty-three**_

 _ **TBC**_

 _So, my friends?_

 _Were they excellent reasons or not?_

 _Undoubtedly, it seems to me._

 _But now?_

 _The Princess..._

 _The blackmail..._

 _But what on earth does he want to do, that human beast of the Nameless One?_

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

 **()** _And here we are again! Once again "In the Hall of the Mountain King", even if it is a work in progress. However, you have to understand me, my friends. In my mind that story is complete and is only waiting for my capricious Muse to let me put it down on paper in full. I'll make it, sooner or later. In any case, much of the present story is based on that one._

 **(())** _And here's that horrible episode of the TV show. "Bounty." I would prefer not to express extensively my personal opinion about that episode._

 **((()))** _And here we are talking about another of my stories. "Art's Forms"._

 **(((())))** _And, to top it off with quotes, here we are talking of my "Shore Leave"._


	24. The Ears of The Elves - Chapter 24

**The Ears of the Elves**

 **By Asso**

 **Chapter Twenty-four**

* * *

 _If I may express myself, my friends, I dare say that the moment has come._

 _The robe has to disclose its secrets._

 _In full._

* * *

 **The Ears of the Elves**

 **Chapter Twenty-four**

 **ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo**

 **ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo**

* * *

For some, long moments there was only silence.

Only the soft crackle of the flame of the braziers.

Beautiful, proud, panting by defiance, the Princess was standing in all her splendid and unripe nudity, her fierce gaze fixed on the monstrous and petrified visage of the Nameless One; on the blue, bewildered and astonished, petrified like him, of his eye, wide open in his face of beast.

Then, the eye was again the eye of the Nameless One. Beautiful and sardonic.

And his face was again the face of Nameless One. Monstrous and sardonic.

And the mouth - the jaws of lion - of the Nameless One smiled. Scary and sardonic, as the jaws of lion - the mouth - of the Nameless One were capable of doing.

Calm and quiet, with that human and bestial smile on his mouth of beast and of man, he walked slowly toward the Princess.

He stopped right in front of her, towering, enormous, over her.

His voice rang out, harsh and rude, as always. And how could it have ever been otherwise, in that mouth of beast and man? How, springing it out of that throat of beast and man?

And yet... the Princess felt her heart tremble... and yet… only a god would know how and maybe not even he… it rang sweet.

Velvety. Fluty.

And terrifying.

"It sounds like Your Grace intends to create some difficulty. Alright, if you want so, what can I say? Nothing, obviously. And nothing I'll say, just as nothing I'll do. It takes two to fight and, consequently, I must evidently abandon my idea. It is a shame, because it was such a cute idea! But such is life and, you know, my brave Princess, one can not have everything in life."

The cruel mouth on that cruel face rippled. The fangs-like teeth shone menacing in the dancing light of the braziers.

"I know it well, do not you think, my bold Princess?"

The monstrous face dropped toward that of the Princess.

"Alright, never mind. It will mean that, as it was denied to me an attractive appearance as well as several other pleasures that life has decided it was appropriate not to give me, I will have also to resign myself to forgo enjoying the pleasure of savouring this..." The eye winked malignantly. "...comely, shapely, beautiful body fighting strenuously in a vain defence."

The gigantic body of the Nameless One straightened up. Then, slowly, with a repressed puissance, he squatted down, by leaning with his forearms on his bent knees, so that his head was beneath than that of the Princess, at the height of her naked breasts.

The Princess snapped backwards vehemently.

The low and dull laughter of the Nameless One echoed the strangled gasp the Princess heaved in her sudden swerve.

His hand, that of flesh, snapped. It grabbed the Princess by the waist. Pulled her toward him.

Sarcastic and mocking, his visage turned slowly upwards, towards that of the Princess, stiff in anxiety and tension. His jeering sneer made fun of her.

"However, allow me, if I must judge by the liveliness of your snap, very difficult to think that this one may be inert flesh, my proud Princess."

Then, his monstrous face grew grim. "You will not be inert flesh in my hands, my Princess."

Leveraging on his powerful thighs, the Nameless One got up a little, the much enough for his visage to be at the level of that of the Princess.

Her wide eyes froze on that single blue eye, cold and mocking.

"You will be throbbing, living flesh in my arms."

The Princess was standing firm, such as of stone, wide-eyed, breathless. It was neither a threat nor a challenge. She felt it. She realized.

"You will respond, quivering, to anything I will do to you. You will palpitate, shuddering with pleasure in my possession."

She felt his breath on her face.

"You will give me, no ifs and buts, with your whole self and without struggle, all I'll want from you and even more."

The blue eye was an impalpable chain which fettered her mind and her heart far more than how the real iron chain fettered her neck.

"This is a pleasure that I won't miss."

* * *

"Well!"

T'Pol's ears pricked up, at hearing Trip's exclamation. Obviously she thought he just wanted to go out with another of his execrations about the ignoble behaviour of the Nameless One, but it wasn't so

It must be said that, just for a change, Trip managed to catch her off guard one more time.

"Frankly, T'Pol, I did not think Vulcans could get passionate about readings... so vivid."

T'Pol's look rose inquisitorial to Trip.

"Oh... um... you know, babe... I mean... okay, the way this story has come into your hands was definitely more than enough to spark your interest, all right. However... "

"However?"

"I seem I can really say that you've internalized very well all the passages of the fable." Trip lifted a little his eyebrow, just as T'Pol would have done. "The ones we are reading included." He twinkled slyly. "Which means that you have read them very carefully, without missing a single one."

"My Husband and Lord, Vulcans have large memory skills and they do not overlook anything of what they do, you know."

"Oh sure, sure. I forgot. "

T'Pol's eyebrow went up in turn. "Do you think these are not reasons enough to explain why I have so carefully recorded in my mind the passages to which you allude, my Lord?"

"Well yes, namely no, namely yes. Mh, well. Yes and no."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Oh In short, T'Pol! Frankly I feel that you show a certain amount of passion, for these passages! A tad more than how it was... than how it was _logical_ to be expected, to cap it all."

"But, my Lord, do not you say always that I am a vulcan female rather inclined to passion?"

"Oh yes, of course! But this reading has some degree of... some degree of... I mean, it's rather... rather..."

"Explicit, you mean, my Lord?"

"Explicit, yes! That's right!"

T'Pol's eyebrow descended, while the faint trace of a smile began to waft on her lips. "Well, maybe you're not wrong, my Husband and Lord. Who knows, perhaps..."

"Perhaps?"

T'Pol choked her irrepressible giggle against Trip's chest. "Perhaps the warning signs of my Pon Farr were beginning to be felt and, considering that the Nameless One it's you..."

Trip was quiet for a second, then he laughed, cheerful and of heart. "Ah okay! All clear. Always Logical, my vulcan wifey!" And he gave a peck at T'Pol's ear tip.

He heard her giggling in earnest, this time, her face buried in his neck. And he felt her lips caressing his skin. And her voice, soft and wheedling. "Be careful, my Lord. Remember the effects that you can provoke in me."

Trip retreated hastily his lips from T'Pol's ear. "Oh my gosh! Better to be cautious! You are right, my little vulcan doll! "

T'Pol stretched out voluptuously in Trip's arms. "But not too much, my Lord."

"Ah, no?"

"No."

"Mh?"

"My Lord, I do not think some pecks at the tip of my ear can be too dangerous. I mean, I do not think they can add much to the effect caused… by your hand."

Trip grinned loudly.

He deposited rapidly, retreating immediately after doing so, another peck on the ear tip of T'Pol, who jumped slightly, letting out a deep sigh when she felt his lips move away.

"You like being kept at gunpoint, eh sweetie?"

T'Pol sighed softly again. Her voice sounded definitely calm, in her reply. Very vulcan. "I do not understand what you mean, my Lord."

Trip chuckled. "Oh sure. Obvious that you don't understand. How might a Vulcan, like you, behave in the way that I, silly Human, dare think that you're behaving?"

"Your words are obscure to me, my Lord, but... whatever you do, it's fine for me."

"Meaning?"

"I do not know what you want to say when you affirm that I like to be kept at gunpoint, but if you judge that I like it and if you are so magnanimous to do something I like... then do it, my Lord."

Trip, inevitably, laughed again. And rather loudly. He threw the PADD on the couch and, with his hand in this way free to move, he ruffled T'Pol's hair.

"My sweet vulcan doll, nothing to say. You are a she-devil! Indeed, in human terms, you are a damn rascal of a she-devil."

"Like you, my Lord?"

"Huh? Oh... oh yes! Like me!"

"That's fulfilling, my Husband and Lord. It's great pride for a vulcan wife being capable of reflecting the qualities of her husband."

"The qualities, eh?"

"Hem, let's say the characteristics."

Trip's hand scratched affectionately T'Pol's head. "Okay. The characteristics."

Then his face frowned. "I hope it does not happen the same thing to the Princess in regard to the Nameless One. His... characteristics are not exactly pleasant."

T'Pol pulled herself up to sit on Trip's knees. She looked him straight in the face.

"Trip." Her voice sounded hesitant. Regretful. And yet, hard to say how, also sure. "Think... think of what your lovable rascality would be if your life had been that of the Nameless One."

Trip looked in turn T'Pol right in the face. Then he nodded. It was a laborious gesture. "Yeah. Every one of us is the son of his own nature and of what life has made of him. I am so because I am what I am and because I am the result of what life has made of me. The Nameless One... "

T'Pol put her arms around his neck. "The Nameless One, T'hai'la - and it was just you the one who has evidenced it - is what... what you could have been, if your lovable rascality had been forged in the merciless furnace of the Nameless One's life."

Trip nodded again. "Ah yes. Lovable rascality my ass! It would have been... would have been sheer hatefulnesses!"

T'Pol tightened her arms around Trip. "But there's the Princess, Trip! There's... there's his T'Pol!"

Once again Trip nodded, without humour. "Yeah. There's the Princess. There's you."

"Yes, Adun, yes! And she... she ..."

"She will give the Nameless One, no ifs and buts, with her whole self and without struggle, all he will want from her and even more."

"It's so, Adun. And, by abandoning herself to her feeling for him, she..."

"She will save him."

T'Pol hugged tight Trip. "Yes!"

Trip pressed T'Pol to him. "But how T'Pol? How? Okay, all right, she's... yes ... she's, incredibly, in love with him. But it's a love she doesn't even know to have. And then! It's a love for him! For that monster! That beast! How… how can she surrender to her love? Abandon herself in it? How can she give all herself, her whole being, to that... to that odious beast without soul?"

T'Pol detached herself a little from Trip, so as to be able to watch him in the face.

"She... she needs a push. A push even… hateful, if you want."

On Trip's face an expression appeared it would be hard to say if it was of irritation, annoyance or disgust. "The blackmail."

T'Pol looked carefully at Trip's expression. She brought her lips close to his mouth and with infinite sweetness she rested them on his for a brief moment.

"Adun." Her voice was soft. Soft and sympathetic. "Adun, you can not avoid reading about this blackmail. I know... oh I know!... how it is disturbing for you coming to know what's this blackmail. I know. You too... and exactly you, precisely you, have realized and made me understand it... have blackmailed me, in a sense, in order to force me to admit once and for all what I felt ... what I feel... for you. And you fear to perceive in the blackmail of the Nameless One the echo of the blackmail you did to me, but... but in a much worse way. You're right, Adun. You're right. But there is no way. If we want to proceed with the tale, we must go through this harsh path."

Trip stood silent, as he watched T'Pol with what could be defined as a true scowl. Then he roused himself. He sighed, then nodded.

"Okay. You're right, obviously. Alright, then. No more ado. Let's see this blackmail."

He sighed again, then set himself in motion. He made sure that T'Pol could stay again comfortable on his lap, wrapped in the blanket. His left arm held her close to him, while his hand, almost of its own volition, once more encircled her breast, gently and, strange as it may seem, protectively.

T'Pol sank into his embrace, with her head resting on his shoulder.

Trip took up back the PADD.

He resumed reading.

* * *

"That's a pleasure you'll miss, instead, my master and lord!"

The Princess' eyes were flames.

"You can kill me! You can torture me to death! But never will you have this pleasure from me! You will not get pleasure from me in any way! NEVER…"

Such was the ardour of her saying that the Princess had to stop, had to take a breath.

"Never will I…"

Such that she wasn't capable of carrying through with what she was saying.

"Never will I… Never will I…"

Her hands became clenched fists with livid knuckles.

"Never will I moan with pleasure in your sickening embrace!"

Her words became a screech.

" **NEVER!"**

Silence followed her scream.

Silence. And nothing else.

Nothing.

Not a word, not a bat of an eyelash from him.

From the Nameless One.

He did not flinch. The words shouted by the Princess seemed as if they hadn't even been said. And her wild and fiery gaze...

It was as if he weren't even grazed by it.

He did not change position. He did not change expression.

Simply, after a few instants, his hand, the one that had life, went slowly to his leather shirt, to a small pocket in it. The fingers rummaged in the pocket. They went out from the pocket, while the blue eye looked sardonically at the Princess, who breathed panting, her eyes blazing with savage wrath.

The Princess' gaze descended to the hand of the Nameless One.

The Princess' eyes saw.

The hand of the Nameless One came up to the eyes of the Princess, so that she could see well.

And she saw well.

A harsh, painful sigh burst out from her lips.

"What do you think of this little ornament, Princess?"

Words failed the Princess. She stood struck dumb, her eyes fixed on the object - small, infinitesimal, in the huge hand of Nameless One.

"A splendid object. Exquisite workmanship. Worthy of a person of high descent, I feel to say. For example, just to mention a possibility, of the noble handmaiden of a mighty elven princess, even of an elven princess of the highest royal lineage, my lady, such as it is you."

The Princess continued to remain silent, with wide open eyes staring at the object, the hateful sound of the sarcastic voice of the Nameless One echoing in her ears and in her heart.

"An object of such a sort is something to be treated with great respect. Like the person who wore it."

 _How it was odious, that voice! It was... it was... intolerable, its taunting tone!_

"Oh yes, Princess, absolutely worthy of respect. I feel I can affirm this with complete certainty. I personally saw the person wearing this object rushing to the desperate rescue of someone, to this person very dear, totally uncaring of the obvious consequences that would have derived for the person I am talking about."

 _Intolerable! INTOLERABLE!_

"Such a spirit of sacrifice would deserve to be rewarded adequately, in my opinion, if this should prove possible and maybe even advisable, possibly with an at least comparable self-abnegation, if necessary. Aren't you convinced, my fierce, indomitable Princess?"

 _ **Intolerable!**_

Like... like the view of that object, from which the Princess could not take her eyes away.

She managed to talk, finally. Struggling harshly within herself, she succeeded.

A whisper of voice.

"Atana."

"Oh, I am well pleased, Princess."

 _Oh that voice!_ _ **His**_ _voice! How it rang obnoxious, his voice!_

"You are really a Royal Princess. Only a true Royal Princess can recognize every thing, even the slightest, pertaining to her royal court, pertaining to people part of it, I mean. Like this beautiful earring. One of those that adorned the ears of your pretty handmaiden."

The eyes of the Princess finally managed to turn away from the sight of that earring, one of Atana's earrings. They stared at the monstrous and sardonic face of the Nameless One.

The words of her master without a soul echoed in her mind. She was able to give them a sense at last.

She was able to understand them.

Her horrified eyes stared at the mocking eye of the Nameless One in a mute, desperate question.

He laughed. A low laugh. Sneering. Bad. "Your handmaiden is alive, Princess. I know how to dose my strength."

He laughed again. "She's alive and is well."

Then the voice of the Nameless One did not laugh anymore. Nor his eye.

"It's in you, my magnanimous Princess, to make it that she may continue to stay healthy."

* * *

"This is not blackmail! This is an ignominy!"

T'Pol wiggled away from Trip's embrace. Her face snapped toward him.

"Trip!"

"So much ignominious as to be more ignominious than the most ignominious of blackmails!"

She grabbed his hand, which was clenching spasmodically the PADD, and sprang up to sit on his lap, while the blanket fell tumbling to the ground.

"TRIP!"

It was as if she were not even speaking.

Trip's blue eyes looked at her, flaming with anger.

Then the anger turned into consternation.

"Say it is not so, T'Pol! Say it is not so!"

T'Pol's hand clutched tightly that of Trip.

"Trip. Adun ..."

"Okay! All right! It is true! I too have blackmailed you! I did it! But mine was a playful blackmail, after all! It was not... was not this baseness! This ignominy!"

"Trip..."

"Okay! All right! It is true! The Nameless One is the Trip who could have been me if I had been him, if I had been son of his world, marked by what life had made him! But until to such an extent? UNTIL TO SUCH AN EXTENT? Until to the extent to perpetrate such a vile ignominy? "

T'Pol tried in vain to shake Trip. She grabbed him by the shoulder.

"TRIP! Listen to me!"

"It is not possible! IT CAN NOT BE POSSIBLE! IT CAN NOT ..."

Suddenly, Trip stopped.

His eyes widened and then, right after, they narrowed.

"But maybe there was no other way."

T'Pol frowned and, her eyes narrowed like his, looked at him blankly.

Trip looked at her in turn. His eyes were now vivid, but quieter. He brought his hand, the one not holding the PADD and that was not locked in that of T'Pol, on the hand of her that held him by the shoulder.

He spoke in a low voice and in a strange tone.

"Tell me T'Pol, did you know you loved me when I blackmailed you so as to lead you to admit it plainly?"

"What?"

"Answer me, T'Pol. Did you know you loved me?"

"But ... but ..."

"Answer me, T'Pol!"

"But... but of course I knew it! What sort of questions do you make? Certainly, I wanted stupidly to resist my feeling for you, but I knew very well what I felt for you. And since our first meeting."

"And the Princess, T'Pol... does she know she loves the Nameless One?"

"But... but no! Of course not!"

Trip shook T'Pol's hand resting on his shoulder.

"You know, T'Pol, hard to say if the Nameless One has noticed, I mean for real, what is born for him within the Princess and, even less, what is born within him for her. But, in any case, as for the Princess, how could she understand it, I mean understand that she is in love with him, with such a monster, unless forced to understand it? She had some faint inkling of her unthinkable feeling, but she could never fully realize it. Unless she... "

And even T'Pol understood.

She understood what she had not understood, not with clarity at least, in reading the fairy tale alone.

Her voice rose, tenuous and light, to complete Trip's thought.

"Unless she is forced to do it."

Trip's voice pressed her.

"Unless she, who does not know what, instead, you knew, is obliged to know. She must not simply be forced to admit to herself what she already knows within herself, as it was for you, T'Pol, because she does not know already, she's unaware. She, before and rather than to be forced to admit to herself her love for the Nameless One, has to be forced to realize that she..."

T'Pol had no trouble completing Trip's sentence.

"That she loves him."

"Yes, T'Pol, it's so. And, tell me again, darling, when did you realize, I mean when did you truly realize that you loved me? That your feelings for me were something that was unalienable part of you? "

A colour that for a Human would be a marked redness began to spread on T'Pol's face.

"When... when..."

"When you gave me yourself, right? Is not it?"

"Y... yes."

"So, T'Pol, how could the Princess realize, with no doubt whatsoever, that she has fallen in love with that monster, just with him... she, who does not even know that she has fallen in love with him, as, instead, you well knew to be so with me... how could she realize it if not by realizing..."

And once again T'Pol completed the illuminating sentence of Trip. And she certainly did not conceal herself behind euphemisms.

"If not by realizing that she is anything but inert flesh in the possession of the Nameless One."

"Yes, my treasure. Because... because a woman who loves... does what you have done with me that night, our first night. A woman who loves..."

Again. Inevitably. T'Pol gave body to the phrase left pending by Trip.

"Gives herself to the man she loves."

Trip nodded. "It's so, my darling." He sighed deeply. "You did so with me."

Then he paused. His eyes stared intensely at T'Pol. "And the Princess, T'Pol? She… beyond all my nice reasonings... what will she do with the Nameless One?"

T'Pol did not answer. She let go off the hand of Trip and freed her other hand, the one on his shoulder, from his grip.

She settled herself well on his lap again, picked up the PADD, cast a quick glance at Trip and then, without either of them caring of pulling the blanket up, she prepared herself to give him the answer to his question.

She began to read aloud.

* * *

For a long moment the Princess stood watching wide-eyed the stone face of the Nameless One, which was turned towards her face, just facing it.

Then, her face quieted down.

She sighed. Deeply.

She opened her fists.

She placed her arms along her sides.

She stepped back.

Her gaze, resolute and quiet, still well fixed on the Nameless One's face.

This one made an imperceptible nod with his head, then, he too with his eye fixed on the Princess' visage, drew himself up slowly in his full height.

He remained so, for a few instants, watching the Princess.

Then he made again a nod with his head to the Princess, a sharp and determined nod, this time, as the eyelid of his eye went down quickly and, right after, equally quickly, it went up.

It was the command.

The Princess sighed again. She gathered her courage.

Then she walked forwards.

Naked. Regal. And beautiful.

The collar around her neck like a princely necklace.

Her chain jangly mildly and softly, as in awe before such beauty.

She stopped just in front of the Nameless One, practically stuck to him.

Small and fragile, opposite to that mountain of mighty flesh.

Her head raised.

Her face turned upward, toward the face of the Nameless One.

In hold.

The arms of the Nameless One snapped as he leaned a little.

The Princess felt his hands grab her by her waist.

She felt herself being lifted.

She felt herself being brought aloft, until her head was above that of the Nameless One and she had to bend hers to look at his face, fixed on hers.

Another nod from the Nameless One.

Another order.

The Princess pulled up her legs. They surrounded the mighty flanks of the Nameless One.

She hooked her ankles to each other behind his back.

The Nameless One made a nod yet.

Another command yet.

The arms of the Princess rose up. They encircled the taurine neck of the Nameless One.

The Princess felt the hands of the Nameless One abandon her waist. She felt his muscular arms embrace her. She felt the rough surface of his unrefined leather shirt, and his powerful chest muscles beneath it, press against her bare breasts.

For a few moments they stood so.

The Princess suspended, clung and adhering to the body of the Nameless One, stuck to it, hooked to it with her legs and her arms and held by his arms around her.

Their faces fixed in one another.

The Princess could smell the Nameless One's odour. A ferine odour. And intense. And mightily masculine.

She peered at his stone face.

Peered at his visage, deformed and monstrous, crossed by a myriad of scars, topped and surrounded by that blond and wild mane.

Peered at that eye, that single blue eye. So beautiful. So human.

She looked at his mouth.

That leonine mouth.

At those lips.

That looked like ferine jaws.

She had seen that mouth grin, mock, taunt.

Had also seen it smile.

She had seen those lips speak. Harshly. Evilly.

And sadly, too. With infinite bitterness.

That mouth... those lips...

Were they also capable of kissing?

The Princess slowly lowered her face over that of the Nameless One.

Her long blonde hair mingled with the Nameless One's mane.

She brought little by little her mouth to that of the Nameless One, until it was over it, until her lips brushed against his.

Her eyes slid shut.

Her lips joined with those of the Nameless One.

Her mouth merged with his.

* * *

 _ **End of Chapter Twenty-four**_

 _ **TBC**_

 **ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo**

 **ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo**

 _Well, my friends, I think that the robe has revealed its secrets at least._

 _However... ahem ... not quite yet._

 _There's some secret that has to be unearthed yet._


	25. The Ears of the Elves - Chapter 25

**The Ears of the Elves**

 **By Asso**

 **Chapter Twenty-five**

* * *

 _A few secrets of the robe yet._

 _Definitely not trivial secrets._

* * *

 **The Ears of the Elves**

 **Chapter Twenty-five**

 **oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo**

 **oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo**

* * *

The Princess woke up slowly. Slowly her eyes fluttered open.

For a little while, she stood suspended between sleep and wakefulness, while her eyes tried to focus on the strange environment - unusual, but, somehow, to her already known - that surrounded her, just as her brain was attempting to do with the glimpses of what seemed strange memories, confused and... pleasant, with the freakish sensations, the... emotions... that, with a sort of lazy pleasure, were stirring inside her, seeking to acquire concreteness and substance, just as she was sleepily doing, trying to gain consciousness, in the bed where she had found herself lying and that she dimly knew she had to know already, just like the setting where she stood.

Then her eyes - and her mind, too - put in sharp focus the environment. And, together, her mind put in sharp focus the bed. And those memories. Those sensations. Those emotions.

Peremptorily and forcefully, they swarmed into her, crowded all together into her mind.

Vivid and powerful.

And permeated with gladness and appeasement.

That she had never felt before.

The Princess moved her hand under the blanket that covered her.

Her hand could touch him.

He was there. Next to her. Huge and powerful.

Real.

Close to her.

She turned her head to look at him.

There he was.

Supine.

By her side.

His head lay on the pillow.

His blond, wild mane was spread, in disorder, on it.

His face was tranquil.

His face of a monster.

Of... a monster.

Yes.

Of a monster.

As much as... as much as subtly, arcanely sweet that monstrous face could appear at that moment.

As much as subtly, arcanely soft the eyelid, shut on the only eye of him, could appear at that moment.

That eye.

That she knew it was so blue. So beautiful.

That, as hesitantly, started to open up.

Revealing little by little its gentle, blue radiance.

The Princess slowly turned a little on her hip, on the bed. She lifted cautiously her head to look at that eye that was waking up.

The leonine head turned slowly on the pillow in turn, toward her.

The blue eye watched her.

The head of the Princess fell back on the pillow, while her gaze, bewildered and astonished, got lost into the glittering blue of that eye which was staring at her.

With no trace of mockery.

That eye.

So warm.

Like… his arms.

 _His arms!_

 _She… she had not been inert flesh in his arms._

 _She…_

 _She had been throbbing, living flesh in his arms._

The blue of that eye enwrapped her.

She felt his hand from under the blanket take... _delicately_... the hand of her that was touching him.

 _His hand!_

 _She had responded to the touch of his hand._

 _She had responded, quivering, to anything he had done to her._

 _She…_

The leonine head got up from the pillow.

The blue eye peered at her.

… _she had palpitated, shuddering with pleasure in his possession._

His hand squeezed, softly, hers.

 _She… she had…_

The Princess, without thinking, without even being aware of it, gently squeezed in turn his hand.

The leonine mouth seemed to want to talk, to want to say something.

But said nothing, instead.

While the blue eye continued to stare at her.

While she unconsciously continued to reciprocate the soft hold of his hand.

While the joyful wonder of what had happened enveloped her with a warmth that she would never have imagined could exist.

The wonder… of what she had done

Of what she had… given him.

… _She had given him no ifs and buts, with her whole self and without struggle, all he had wanted from her._

 _And… even more._

 _She had given him herself._

* * *

T'Pol stopped reading.

She watched Trip with eyes that looked to shine with the light of the stars.

Trip watched her in turn, with eyes so bright that they seemed to want to compete with hers.

He held her close to him.

"Do not stop, T'Pol. Read on."

* * *

The hand of him disentangled itself from hers... gently.

Gently, he pulled away from her and turned around.

Gently, slowly, he pulled down the blanket, got out of bed and stood up, turning to the bed.

He stayed like that, naked, in front of her.

His blue eye, soft, on her.

And soft sounded his voice.

"You have murmured to me not to stop, Princess."

That said, he stood watching her for a brief moment and then leaned down and, gently, pulled up the blanket to cover her. He straightened up again, then he bent a little forwards again. He leaned with his hands on the edge of the bed.

His eye had never stopped staring at her nor it ceased to do it, as - while the Princess' brain, her eyes fixed on his, was still floundering confusedly in the vain attempt to find a reply, a rejoinder, a remark of any kind, to the quiet affirmation of him - he talked again, quietly and softly again.

"You have wanted me to go on."

And, at this point, the Princess looked down. And blushed. Visibly.

And how would she not do it?

It was like that. He was telling the truth. She had murmured to him not to stop. She had whispered it to him with passion, in his arms. Even before he could think to stop, if ever he could think to do so. She had done it at… at the very moment in which her… state… had become manifest.

She had asked him, with eyes closed with desire, to pick up what no one else had ever picked up before.

She has asked him to take from her even more, _much_ more than all he wanted from her.

 _She had asked him to gather from her secret garden the flower that had never been gathered before._

She... the Princess, closed her eyes, overwhelmed ...she had not yielded to his strength, to his prevarication.

There had been no need.

 _She had donated him herself... spontaneously._

 _She had wanted -_ _ **She! From the depths of herself!**_ _\- the Nameless One to be the first man of her life._

* * *

T'Pol could not keep reading.

She felt Trip's gaze wrap her like a warm mantle.

Felt his unspoken assertion.

His tacit, sweet wonder.

She turned her look toward him.

She nodded.

"Yes Adun. It's so. Even the Princess, as I have done with you, has given her whole self to the one who has taken her heart. It was necessary the petty blackmail of the Nameless One to lead her to do it, but she did. She has wanted him to take what only he could take."

Trip almost stammered. "As you did... as you did with me."

T'Pol nodded again. She leaned her face on his chest. She shut her eyes. Her voice was a dream whisper. "Yes, Trip. Now I know. Before, no. Prior to being brought to understand by you. But now I know. Now I understand everything. For real. I know now, I understand, like you, that it could not be otherwise. Because I'm the Princess and you are the Nameless One."

T'Pol felt Trip nod his head. She heard his voice. Solemn.

"The road, though, is still long. I feel it, honey, without need for you to tell me. But the first step is done. The way of salvation is open for the Nameless One. The Princess has made him savour the taste of happiness." His gaze dropped to T'Pol. "As you did with me, T'Pol."

T'Pol looked at him in turn, warmly, but with a glimmer of sadness and regret in her deep, dark eyes. "It is true. But it is also true what you feel, Adun. The road is still long. She, the Princess, as it was for me, is not ready yet. She can not yet admit the truth. And… and there will be suffering for both, as it was for us, because, as I did, she will deny the evidence."

Trip's gaze became sure. It got loaded with true strength, that quiet and reliable force that had always fascinated T'Pol, that others understood that existed, but that only she really knew.

"But she will do it, T'Pol. As you have done. And she will save the Nameless One from himself. From his destructive resentment towards the world that has taken away his humanity. As you have done with me. As you saved me from my destructive grudge against the world that had brutally taken away my sister from me. "

T'Pol clung tight to Trip. "Yes, Trip. She will do it." Her voice got very low, seemed to exude a pensive wonder. "And the result will be… will be mind-blowing!"

A certain amount of surprise tried to peep into Trip's eyes, but he managed to push it back.

 _Mind-blowing? Well, not bad! Not a trivial adjective, for a Vulcan. Not at all. It was an adjective that, in its exuberance, not exactly matching the proclaimed vulcan sense of measure, spoke volumes._

Trip understood that T'Pol was talking about the reason of her bewilderment, the bewilderment, that is, she had shown at the beginning of that... well, yes... of that _mind-blowing_ night.

But, again, he did not want to investigate.

By now it was clear to him. T'Pol needed for him to come to discover the reason by himself, uniting himself to her in her bewilderment. Substantially, she needed what she needed always, that is to say his sharing her emotions, making them his own, because this was the only way she had in order to face and control them. And to enjoy them, too.

And in a sense she was doing it already. She was - Unconsciously? Mh... - keeping him on tenterhooks, she wanted to load him with her own bewilderment, by making him portend the weight of its cause without telling him openly.

She was unloading on him her emotion, so that he could take charge of it freeing her from its weight.

Easy, eh, his life with T'Pol? Well, in any case, it was worth it. It was... it was, yes... it was even gratifying to know he was her... do we want to say it all?... her exhaust valve for her overloaded batteries. It was a pleasure and an honour, this, that he alone could have. Tiring? Sure, bone-crushing, it could be said! But, guys! How much love from her - after so much, futile shilly-shallying - in exchange for this! For a love as great as the one she now showed for him, for giving her the opportunity of expressing, of manifesting such a love, the price he had to pay was a real pittance! Indeed, in truth, an absolute nothing!

Therefore he, once again, made no comment.

Simply he nodded, quietly.

Then he smiled, with warmth, and, finally, after a few instants, he laughed softly, an amused expression on his face, as if he was having fun for some secret thought.

Obviously such an expression didn't certainly go unnoticed to the eyes of T'Pol, who raised an eyebrow questioningly. She knew very well her chicken, by now, and when the above mentioned chicken put on that sort of expression…

Trip, of course, noticed immediately T'Pol's raised eyebrow as well as her quizzical look.

He chuckled softly again.

"Oh excuse me, darling. You wonder what the hell I may find amusing in all this. It's the road, honey, the length of the road still to be done by the Princess and the Nameless One."

T'Pol did not even blink, but her eyebrow rose imperceptibly a little more.

"Sweetie, how could the road ahead not be still very long, if it is true as it is true that you are the Princess?"

T'Pol's eyebrow went up a little more yet, rather suspicious. "I find it difficult to grasp the nexus, my ..." The tone was not exactly affectionate. Indeed, definitely distrustful. "...Lord."

"Well, you see darling, do you remember how long it took for you to admit to yourself what you felt for me? Okay, so then, if the Princess also has only one ounce of your stubbornness..."

Trip stopped abruptly.

Oh shit! Had he gone mad? Okay being sincere, but talking like that to T'Pol was like stroking a cat backward. And her nails knew how to scratch well more than the claws of a wild cat!

Trip desperately tried to remedy in some way and, naturally, he made a disaster.

"Stubbornness? Who spoke of stubbornness? I expressed myself badly! I meant... I meant wariness, here!"

"Wariness?"

"But… but not in the sense of diffidence, in the sense of... of logical caution!"

"Logical caution? Would you mean, my Lord, that it has been logical that I showed caution in accepting my feelings for you?"

"Well… in… in a sense…"

"And that's what I did? I've shown logical caution in resisting my feelings for you?"

"Oh... here…"

"Did I do or didn't I, my Lord?"

Well, it is well known. It is not easy to tell lies in certain circumstances, even if you have the best reasons in the world to say lies and even if you are motivated by noble intentions. Mh, maybe even not exactly noble. It's not at all easy, especially if you are in confusion and under pressure. The truth can come out straight from your heart... inopportunely.

"You didn't! What you showed was a damn stubbornness, damnit!"

A disaster, nothing to say.

"Oh... ah... uh… ih… eh… ah… I mean..."

"What do you mean, my Husband and Lord?"

"I mean... oh damn!... okay, you've been damn stubborn, holy shit! But… but you... you had surely your good reasons, here! As the Princess! Sure! You can not... you can not say that she has no good reasons to hesitate to admit to herself her feelings for the Nameless One. It's not that he's exactly a rosebud!"

"Ah, I understand, my Lord. I've been stubborn, you say, but I had my good reasons to be so. Just as the Princess. But in this case, my Lord, the fact that, as it happened to her for the Nameless One, it took me so long to admit my feelings for you, does it mean that, as for the Nameless One, it's not precisely proper to define you as a rosebud?"

A very short break, then T'Pol finished in great style, with a very soft tone. Extremely soft. Too much soft.

"My Lord?"

Trip's jaw went slack, then, after a moment, swung shut.

Now, on his face there was the most dismayed of expressions.

"I am not a rosebud, T'Pol. I am a fool."

Well, can you believe? The broadest of smiles blossomed at this point on T'Pol's lips.

"My adorable and adored fool, you mean, don't you, my Husband and Lord?"

And so Trip found himself to have some problem again with his mandibular articulation. However he recovered promptly and, not hard to believe, he didn't take it bad at all.

Guys! What a knockout of a girl, his T'Pol! A veritable knockout! A bombshell! In all senses! Both in the coachwork and in the central command unit!

And how could it ever be possible not to externalize this to her blatantly?

For Trip, of course, being him Trip, it did not take more than a millisecond.

"That's my girl!"

Surely not precisely a whispered exclamation.

And, fortunately, his was not the strength of a vulcan male, because otherwise the bones of T'Pol would have ended up with shattering in his embrace.

But we must say that the strength of his embrace had very little to envy to the strength of the embrace of a vulcan male (still assuming this one could be able to embrace for the sheer hell of it).

And it must be said too that T'Pol did not complain at all.

After a certain amount of time (not at all wasted, it must be said, and occupied not only by the embrace, may the particular state of T'Pol rest in peace), Trip decided they had to go on with the reading.

Well, damn it! Could anyone possibly deny that it was worthwhile more and more?

He did not think minimally to stop hugging T'Pol. He just loosened a little the hug and, raising his head, looked at her gently and slyly at the same time.

"Okay. Let's keep on reading. It just seems to be the case to do it. But, if the road is still long, it is better to come back to take some precaution."

Without leaving the embrace of T'Pol, he bent down and picked up the blanket.

For the umpteenth time, with some inevitable contortion, he covered both her and himself with it.

"Here. Now that's fine." Then again he laughed. "And as for my hand... still the same position, sweetie?"

T'Pol raised her eyebrow. "Is some new and compelling reason arisen, by chance, why it should no longer be so, my Husband and Lord?"

Trip became ostentatiously serious. "Absolutely not, my attentive vulcan wife."

"All right, so ..." T'Pol positioned herself to allow Trip to be able to easily place his hand where it was more than logical for it to be. "... I beg you, my Lord, even if it means that you will have to resume reading in person the fable, being to me impossible to do it in this position, not to want to place your hand differently."

Trip, not grudgingly in truth, complied with T'Pol's request.

This done, he, although with some difficulty, considering that T'Pol was languidly and blissfully lulling softly herself in his arms and that his left hand was pretty busy, rearranged himself for reading.

But, oh... well, he failed to restrain himself.

His malicious sprite made his voice be heard and he had to obey him.

"Ah, it promises to be really interesting."

He clearly felt the sudden stop of T'Pol's languishing movements.

"What do you think, honey of my heart? Who will be the winner? You or the Princess? I mean with regard to stubbornness? A very good race, nothing to say."

There could be no doubt. What came from T'Pol was a muffled grunt.

Trip pretended not noticing.

Giggling beneath his moustache, he went back reading.

* * *

 _ **End of Chapter Twenty-five**_

 _ **TBC**_

 **oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo**

 **oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo**

 _Who will be the winner, my friends?_

 _T'Pol or the Princess?_

 _Yes, definitely a great race, no doubt about it._


	26. The Ears of the Elves - Chapter 26

**The Ears of the Elves**

 **By Asso**

 **Chapter Twenty-six**

* * *

 _I think that if I were to give a title to this chapter, a very appropriate title would be "Stubbornness and Desolation."_

 _Believe me, my friends. It would be very aptly titled._

 _Maybe even "Darkness"._

* * *

 **The Ears of the Elves**

 **Chapter Twenty-six**

* * *

 **oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo**

 **oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo**

 _Untrue!_

 _It was all untrue!_

Atana! She was the cause!

She. And the affection she felt for her!

Not that... that strange and crazy thing that was boiling inside her.

That thing... that was not true!

The Princess proudly raised her head. _(Yes._ _ **Yes!**_ _)_ Her eyes seemed embers. _(It was like that!)_. Disdainful, her mouth came open. _(_ _ **Like that!**_ _)._ To Talk.

To slam into the face of her tormentor the truth.

No matter what.

No matter even the… the heartache she felt within herself as she replied with fierce pride.

But she ignored that pain. She shut it out as she spoke.

Aloud.

Too much aloud.

"Atana deserves this and much more from me!"

And she felt darkness within herself.

 _Because…_

Because she was about to suppress – to destroy! - that strange and crazy and… marvellous thing that stirred inside her, that enveloped her heart with a warmth that she had never known.

And she felt the stupidity of her talking, of what she was going to do.

 _Because…_

Because she knew that – stupidly - she was going to condemn Atana and herself to martyrdom.

And she felt being even more stupid.

 _Because…_

Because she - stupidly and... and conscious of being stupid - desperately, with _stupid_ stubbornness, struggled to silence that inner tiny voice that was screaming softly to her that she was going to tell the biggest lie that could ever be told.

 _Because…_

Because she was going to lie shamelessly to him.

To the Nameless One

 _And… to herself._

But she silenced that little voice.

Fiercely, stubbornly, stupidly she silenced it.

And fiercely, stubbornly...

Stupidly...

Conscious of being stupid and stubborn, _stupidly stubborn_...

"Atana deserves any sacrifice from me."

The Princess stood silent a moment before plunging into the maelstrom.

"Even the sacrifice of being flesh vibrant of pleasure in the possession..."

The voice failed her.

"In the possession..."

She recovered. Stubbornly, stupidly she managed to pull herself together.

And her last words burned in her throat.

"…of the soulless monster..."

 _Oh, how they burned!_

"… of the contemptible blackmailer..."

 _How much!_

"...who has made me his slave."

In her throat...

"Slave of his despicable cravings."

 _And in her soul!_

And then she fell silent, her eyes, suddenly faint, fixed on the blue and gloomy eye of the Nameless One.

* * *

"Sorry to say, hon."

T'Pol lifted eye and eyebrow at Trip.

Uncomfortable.

Just as sounded her voice. Low and faint. And falsely sure. In posing the rhetorical question.

"What, Adun?"

"The Princess wins over you."

And if T'Pol's voice sounded in the way it sounded, the one of Trip, to make up for it, was the opposite of what it should have been.

His was a joke, one of his usual jokes. Silly and made just in order to be so, to play down things. Which was a job that normally he was able to do very well. He was a master in doing that, also according to T'Pol.

But this time things did not go the right way, not according to his intentions, or at least according to those that would have been his intentions.

Actually, he did not succeed very well. Honestly, his voice should not have sounded as serious as it was.

And things got worse. Because he failed to restrain himself.

"Sure, if you think that the Princess is you, I have to consider myself rather lucky. It could have been much worse between you and me, if you had decided to give new and full vigour to the obstinacy of the Princess."

T'Pol lowered eye and eyebrow.

She was silent.

There was not much she could say. In fact there was nothing.

Her Adun was right.

If she had persevered a little more in her mad obstinacy, an obstinacy so much obstinate as to be even stupidity, exactly as in the case of the Princess... she would have lost him.

And there was a close one.

The voice, pensive, of Trip, startled her.

"I wonder how the Nameless One may have been able to pass over the obstinacy of the Princess, how he may have been able to compel himself to give her the way to save his soul from its damnation."

And, then, T'Pol spoke.

She understood and felt that she had to do it.

She spoke softly, with closed eyes.

And with quiet warmth. The warmth she felt inside.

"In the Princess there is a lot of me, but, fortunately, in the Nameless One there is a lot of you. He... he is a ruthless monster, but even a miserable shred of what remains of his soul is still a shred of your soul, my Adun. "

And Trip did not know what to say.

He swallowed.

He blushed.

He not even tried to stammer something.

He was silent for a moment, staring forward.

Then he coughed

He looked down at the PADD.

He cleared his throat.

He resumed reading.

All in all quite in a firm voice.

* * *

It could be said that even the sizzle of the flames in the braziers had stopped.

It could be said that everything had stopped.

Everything.

Turned into stone.

As the face of the Nameless One.

For long, endless moments it remained so.

Turned into lifeless stone.

Like his eye.

Like his huge body, bent forward, leaning against the edge of the bed with the hands.

Like the face of the Princess, turned white and motionless, as of white stone.

Then the blue eye came to life.

The eyelid slowly went down to cover it.

Then the eyelid went up.

The blue eye reappeared.

A pit of sadness.

The Princess saw it well.

She could not be mistaken.

 _Her heart_ could not be mistaken.

A bottomless pit of bottomless sadness.

Then the rage.

And then...

The frost.

As a living mountain, the great body rose up.

The Nameless One did not speak.

The Nameless One did nothing.

He stood for a long moment, naked and powerful, arms down at his sides, the blue eye, motionless and cold, hard, on her.

On the Princess.

On the beautiful elven Princess who... for a brief, wonderful moment... he had had the illusion that...

The blue eye misted over.

That...

A moment. A fleeting instant.

 _That..._

Then the blue eye glowed grimly with frost again.

The leonine mouth remained closed and silent.

The blonde mane swayed lightly, as the big monstrous head was moving to nod with a slow motion that looked as laden with fatigue.

The monstrous head flexed down.

The blue eye looked down at the ground.

Found what it was looking for.

The big body stooped down.

The big hand, the living one, picked up what the eye had found.

The leather breeches. The leather jacket.

The garments which had been thrown to the ground before...

 _Before the two of them..._

Slowly, the breeches were worn.

Slowly, the leather jacket has covered again the mighty bust.

One last look at the Princess.

One last, icy stare.

One last look.

Where frost was mingled with sadness.

Then, quickly, the big body moved.

Shoulders to the Princess, it reached the heavy veil that covered the exit.

The big hand lifted it up.

The big body slipped into the gap.

It stopped, just in the middle of it, enormous and dark against the dark of night.

The big monstrous head turned around.

The blue eye, vivid in the light of the braziers, looked at the Princess.

The monstrous mouth opened up, almost with effort.

It spoke.

The Nameless One's rough voice was heard again.

Low.

Very low.

Cold. Mocking.

And veiled. By something...

It was not sadness.

It was something more.

And the Princess sensed it like a blade that pierced her soul.

It was despondency

It was bitterness.

It was desolation.

"Thanks for the incomparable night that you have graciously wanted to grant this horrendous beast, my Princess. The cited beast, as far as being a soulless monster and a despicable blackmailer, won't forget it. Never, I assure you, Your Grace. "

The head turned around to the outside.

"It is still dark, but dawn is looming."

The head turned back to the Princess.

"I'll leave you to your deserved rest."

A break. Heavy.

"The coming day will be a demanding day for you."

The great leonine head stood firm a moment, then turned to the outside.

The big body passed through the gap in the tent.

The Princess saw it for a moment yet, before the gap was closed again, concealing from her sight the world.

And the Nameless One.

The Princess remained motionless on the bed, under the blanket, her eyes fixed on the now concealed exit through which the Nameless One had passed, disappearing into the night.

Her hand unconsciously moved, went to the collar that encircled her neck.

To the collar of her slavery.

While, in spite of all, her mind and her heart were reliving the wonder of what she had lived, in her first night of slavery.

The wonder of what she had lost.

And wouldn't have ever again.

* * *

"Trip ..."

T'Pol's voice was a whisper.

"Trip... the Nameless One will know how to remedy. _The Princess_ -she, exactly she, she herself - will know how to remedy!"

But Trip did not listen

His voice rose again, after T'Pol's heartfelt interruption.

Sad and melancholic.

To give voice to the reading.

To give voice to the Nameless One.

To give voice to himself.

To all the despondency, all the bitterness, all the desolation that so many times he had been forced to chew up, to gulp down and savour because of the stupid stubbornness of T'Pol.

* * *

The opening in the tent closed behind him.

The Nameless One stood still.

His gaze wandered in the dark of night.

Everything was silent.

The encampment was still and silent.

The neigh of some steed.

In the distance.

The arcane nocturnal sounds of the forest.

Nothing else.

Everything was silent.

Even the sentries. Hidden. Among the trees. On the tops of the hills shrouded in darkness.

But over there, beyond the trees, over the hills, the first lights of dawn were beginning to brighten the sky.

The Nameless One's gaze turned towards those distant lights, barely hinted.

Then, slowly, he turned around.

There.

The manor.

Ramshackle. In ruins.

Wrapped in the dark.

Barely visible in the darkness.

There it was.

The manor.

Where he had found the Princess.

The Princess...

The Nameless One turned around again.

Towards the tent.

Where the Princess was.

The tent.

Where there was the bed where he and the Princess...

The big body moved laboriously.

The big monstrous head turned around one more time.

The blue eye looked again at the distant dawn.

The light would come again.

Would lit up again that wonderful world that was not his world.

Which was the world of the Princess.

Not the bleak and hostile world of ice where he had toughened himself up.

Where he had brooded on his revenge.

Where he had prepared his revenge.

Sure.

His revenge.

Now he had the means.

Now he had the Princess.

The Princess.

Who had given him herself.

Who had made him savour something...

The blue eye went down.

It looked down. Towards the terrain covered with icy and dark grass.

Something…

Like a flare, a fleeting flare of soft, warm light in his dark world and cold.

Something…

That he wouldn't have ever again.

* * *

 _ **End of Chapter**_ _ **Twenty-six**_

 _ **TBC**_

 **oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo**

 **oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo**

 _So, my friends? I was right, don't you think?_

 _Come on, come on! Lift up your hearts!_

 _Dawn will rise!_


	27. The Ears of the Elves - Chapter 27

**The Ears of the Elves**

 **By Asso**

 **Chapter Twenty-seven**

* * *

 _My friends, what did I tell you at the end of the previous chapter?_

 _Oh yes. I've told..._

— _Come on, come on! Lift up your hearts!_

 _Dawn will rise!_ _—_

 _Well, of course, my friends, of course._

 _But the light is slow to shine in full._

* * *

 **The Ears of the Elves**

 **Chapter Twenty-seven**

 **oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo**

 **oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo**

Little by little the Princess' eyes fluttered open.

Once again she had to strain to realize where she was.

To understand.

To remind.

And, once again, she realized.

The same bed.

The same tent.

The iron collar around her neck.

The chain.

The tangible signs of her servitude

And her memories.

The memories of what had happened from the moment the cry of Atana had called her, while the sun was setting on the manor in ruins where she and her men... her men, who… who were no more... had sought shelter.

The memories of before the night.

And... the memories of that night.

The night she had spent with…

With him.

Her... pleasure.

Her joy.

Her befuddlement for that pleasure, for that joy.

Her befuddlement for having given herself to him.

For having murmured him, in the passion, to take possession of her.

The first man to do it.

And then… her denial.

Her ostentatious, haughty... _stubborn_... refusal.

And her dejection. Her despondency.

In the face of what she had denied him.

That she had disowned.

That had refused to admit.

To him and... to herself.

The lump. The lump she had felt in her throat. More suffocating than whatsoever iron collar that could clench her neck.

And... and _his_ dejection. _His_ despondency.

The consternation, the melancholy, the plumbeous gloomy sadness, that she had felt in him.

And the bitter emptiness she had felt within as she had denied what she had given him as... as if she had given him nothing.

As if nothing had been.

Nothing of what she had given him.

Nothing of what she had had from him.

And the memory of how he had gone off.

In that way.

Without raging over her.

Without settling accounts with her for her inconsiderate arrogance. And... mendacious.

He had gone away so.

Quietly.

And woefully.

In the night.

Leaving her so.

Alone.

With her thoughts.

Too many thoughts.

Too abashing.

Too much confusion in her mind.

She had yielded.

Fatigue, exhaustion, discomposure had won.

Despite all, she had yielded

To the fatigue, to the exhaustion, to the discomposure.

To the confusion in her mind and in her soul.

She had fallen asleep.

A leaden sleep.

Until...

The light.

Yes.

She realized it.

The light.

The vivid glare of the broad daylight.

Full of sunshine.

That was making its way into the tent.

The light had awakened her.

The vivid light.

Too vivid to be shielded by the heavy fabric of the tent walls.

The light, that penetrated, powerful, from every crack.

Winning the shadows of the tent.

The light.

That, ruthlessly, without feigning, poured out on the bed. Revealed it.

That bed. Where she lay naked under the blanket with which... with which he had covered her.

Before leaving her.

Before disappearing from her sight.

In the night.

The bed.

Where… where she and he...

A mighty flood of light flooded the tent, mercifully distracting the Princess from the clogging of her mind

She was forced to squint in the bright beam that enveloped her.

By shielding her eyes with her hand she strained to see.

The opening. The opening in the tent.

It was raised again.

From there the flood of light had raided inside.

And, silhouetted into the opening, against the outside glare, two figures.

The eyes of the Princess managed to adapt. And they could see.

She recognized them.

It was the two young women, those who had brought her what she needed in order to refresh herself. To... to get back her strength.

The elven female and the human female.

After a while, they advanced deeper into the tent, letting the opening close again.

Now the Princess could see well.

Yes. It was them.

Dressed in the same way. As it were.

And once again they wore something in their hands.

But it was no trays. It was not victuals or drinks. Or, rather, not only that.

The first, the elven female, was holding, in fact, a plate, with, above, something that gave off a delicious aroma.

A fragrant aroma of bread freshly baked.

And, next to the bread, a bowl. Fumigant. Deliciously fumigant.

The second, the human female...

It was a gilded wooden casket, finely decorated with elaborate red and green runes, what she was holding, rather wide and flat, and closed by a slightly cambered lid, so that the Princess could not see its contents. What she could see was only that the girl held firmly the casket with both her hands, with great care.

The one who broke the bated inaction was the elven female.

She approached the bed and stopped just in front of it.

For a moment, she stared at the Princess with big eyes and scrutinizing.

Two beautiful blue eyes, framed in a pale, delicate face, crowned by an unruly mass of blonde and flowing hair.

Two bright eyes, with a veil of indefinable sadness inside.

And... it seemed... yes... even of incredulous wonder.

As if the elven girl couldn't believe what her eyes were seeing, to whom she was standing in face.

Then the girl reawakened.

She put in a great hurry the plate on the bed and then knelt, while lowering her head, with an air of great deference.

Without lifting her chin from her chest, she spoke.

A very low voice.

Overflowing with respect.

"Our Lord and Master sends word to you, through me, my Lady, to want to accept this small but substantial breakfast to deal in forces with the day which expects you after the night you have passed."

The female paused briefly.

"Our Lord and Master has ordered me to speak to you exactly so, reporting to you exactly word for word his own words."

Another pause, full of deference.

"And so do I do, my Lady."

A further pause. Short and taut.

Then the elven female looked up.

She watched the Princess with flickering eyes.

And flickering was her voice.

"I beg you, my Lady, not to refuse what our Lord and Master wants me to do so that you are willing to accept."

One pause. Yet again.

Very brief. As the girl's eyes looked as being about to get moist with tears.

"I... pray you, my Lady."

"Of course!" The Princess replied hastily. "I... I accept it gladly! I... I'm hungry!"

And she sat down on the bed, holding up the blanket to cover herself, and began to drink and to eat with ostentatious pleasure and greed, while, distinct, a big sigh - a sigh of relief and gratitude - rose from the elven slave girl.

The Princess looked at her, while she refreshed herself. She looked at those eyes that now watched her really wet with tears.

The Princess stopped eating to talk. Looking fixedly at the girl, she spoke in a soft voice.

"If I will be given to do so, I'll report to… " She hesitated briefly, but then she pronounced that word and stressed it strongly and significantly. "… _our_ Lord and Master that you've been very diligent and capable in carrying out his orders and that I have very much enjoyed the breakfast."

And it was true.

The flavour of the drink - milk, sweet milk, and warm and creamy; the fragrance of the bread... they were gorgeous and the Princess did not think twice to get back to eat and drink.

It was a pleasure to do it.

But even bigger pleasure was to see the look of ecstatic gratitude with which the elven girl watched her while she ate. And the happiness that spurted from the entire pretty face of her, in being told... "Get up my damsel."

My damsel! Oh gods! Damsel! The Princess, **her** Princess called her so! _Her Damsel!_

"Do not stand on your knees in front of me. I am the Princess Alel, but I am also..." A fleeting and manifest note of sadness in the voice of the Princess, as well as in the girl's face. "... a slave-girl, like you. And perhaps... more slave-girl than you."

The Princess pulled herself together. Her beautiful face became again the visage of the indomitable Princess Alel, that she, even in the state where she was, had to - _had to!_ \- be, for that elven girl. For all, actually. But above all for her, for that girl. And for any other elven slave girl who was there, where now she too was.

She finished consuming all breakfast, while the slave-girl remained motionless contemplating adoringly her Princess.

So then a voice was heard. The voice of the second slave girl, the human female.

Uncertain and fearful.

"My Lady, could I... could I... I too... rely on your benevolence?"

The Princess looked up on the human slave-girl.

Swallowing visibly, this one managed to complete her hesitating request, which sounded like a prayer.

"Would you… would you want to accept what I bring you, my Lady? I mean... I mean what is contained in this casket? It is clothes, my Lady. So that... so that you can get dressed."

The Princess' eyes observed the human slave-girl.

She was beautiful and petite, with a small pretty face.

Her complexion was as swarthy just as that of her companion was pale and clear and her hair, rebel and flowing, was a dark mass falling down on her nude shoulders.

And she had two large dark eyes.

Wide open and pleading.

And she trembled.

Like a leaf.

Her words... her plea... echoed in the mind of the Princess.

Those words revealed everything.

That was a human female.

And Humans were the destroyers of the Elven world.

Of her world. The world of the Princess she was.

At the hands of Humans, her family and her friends and companions had perished.

At the hands of Humans, she had become the Wandering Princess. Looking for something that she could have had nevermore.

And in the hands of a Human, now, she had fallen slave.

A different Human. But still a Human.

And... terrifying to the point of being inhuman.

In the body.

And inside .

But he was a Human.

How could that poor, small, trembling human slave-girl escape the dreadful idea that she - She! The Princess Alel, the legitimate Lady of the Elves, of all the Elves! - could think to make her pay the penalty for all misfortunes - for the death, for the destruction - that Humans had caused to the elven people and to her? To her! The great, unique Princess of the Elves! The one who, if the ax of fate – _of the Humans!_ – had not befallen upon her, would have to sit on the throne as legitimate monarch of all the elven peoples!

How could that miserable human slave-girl not shake in pure fear at the thought that the orders, which, of course, she too, as well as her elven companion in misfortune, had received from their soulless master, could have been disregarded by her, by the Princess of the people, victim - and victim herself, innocent victim - of her breed comrades? Of the perfidious Humans?

A well petty revenge, indeed, this would be! But the poor human slave-girl certainly had known only meanness, in her life, and what she knew, the only thing she knew, what she feared, what made her tremble, it was the thought of what would happen to her if she had not been able to do so that she - she, the Princess - would accept even what she bore her, by order of her… _of their_ … deformed master.

Who would make her pay in the most brutal way.

Because...

Because he was the Nameless One.

The ruthless, vicious, violent, heinous Nameless One.

Incapable… the Princess' heart made a leap… of loving! Yes. Incapable!

Capable... only capable of hating!

But that small, sweet, trembling human slave-girl was innocent.

Like her. Like the Elven princess she was.

What sins, what fault could that poor human slave-girl ever have, that miserable petite human slave-girl, frightened and trembling?

What sins, what fault could that sweet… sweet human maiden ever have, to whom the doom had reserved the fate of being slave... - The Princess' heart didn't want to know not to jump again - … of a soulless monster?

A soulless monster. Not only incapable... the Princess' heart went up to her throat… incapable of loving, but even… even…

That knot. Again. That stifling lump in her throat! She put her hands to her neck. To her collar.

She gasped. She realized. But she could not avoid it.

She could not help but open wide her eyes.

… _ **even undeserving to be loved!**_

"Princess! PRINCESS!"

The voice, alarmed, of the elven slave.

"What's wrong? What happens to you?"

With a mighty effort the Princess succeeded in composing herself once again.

She breathed deeply. She calmed down. She managed in some way to step into the shoes again of who she was. The Princess Alel.

Striving to show a dignified doing, she pulled up the blanket that had fallen down, exposing her breast.

She looked with regal and quiet air at the elven slave.

"Nothing. Nothing, my damsel. I'm... fine."

"But..."

"Nothing, I said. Only... there's to think that it has not been small thing, what I've been through in... in recent hours."

"Yes, of course, but ..."

The Princess' expression softened. She looked gently at the elven slave. Smiled at her.

"Fear not, my damsel. I have been through maybe even worse moments. And I was always able to recover, to get back to be the Princess Alel."

Then, without dwelling on the gaze of relief and pride that lit up the face of the elven slave, the Princess turned to the human slave, who had remained silent, motionless, terrified, watching and listening in mute anxiety.

And not even to her the smile of the Princess denied itself.

A sweet smile, like her voice.

"Do not be afraid, my damsel."

The human slave-girl could not believe her ears. Her dark eyes widened in incredulity.

 _My damsel! The elven Princess had called her so! Like... like her elven companion!_

Stunned, the human slave-girl almost missed the further words of the Princess.

Almost.

Because, in reality, those words… she heard them perfectly.

And she comprehended them.

And her heart swelled with a sweet, astonished heat.

"I have no intention to reject what you bring me. Our Lord and Master will satisfied also with how you have followed his orders. And even this, if he will allow me, I intend to report to him."

The Princess' smile became radiant and, someway, amused, too.

"And besides, maybe I could have even refused the breakfast, but hard to think that I can refuse something with which getting dressed. If anything ..." And here her smile clouded. "...if anything, I was afraid of having to continue to remain naked. And... and it is not at all pleasant the idea of having to continue to stay so. For... for a variety of reasons."

Then the smile of the Princess shone again.

"Therefore, my damsel, what you bring me is all the more appreciated and welcome."

Oh what a sweet, wonderful warmth inside the petite human slave! Inside her fearful heart of slave-girl! The young human girl had never felt anything like it! She had never been treated so! With such a sweetness. With such a...

And it was not over yet.

Her ears heard, yet. But her mind really struggled to understand.

It was not possible! It was not possible that that wonderful, royal Princess, the legendary Princess Alel, the Princess of all Elves, were saying to her...

"The same fate binds you to your elven companion of slavery. The same fate that unites, now, me with you both, although the fate to which I am doomed is likely to be worse than yours, because of who I am. But. .. "- What a proud, magnificent expression on her royal face! - "... but just because of this, just because of who I am, for me there are no slave-girls. For me there can be only maidens who may be willing to help me to bear the fate that awaits me. Maidens that I can proudly call my damsels. My friends. Whether elven or human."

* * *

"Damn it! Now that's a real princess! At this point we can no longer have doubts. You, sweetheart, are definitely a reborn warrior princess of the remote past of Vulcan. It can not but be so, since in you lives the Princess Alel. And, moreover, your soul is as noble as hers. I know it well. Indeed, if the nobility of your soul goes hand in hand with your stubbornness, your nobility of spirit is even greater that hers. "

Difficult for T'Pol to decide whether she should feel offended or proud for the words of her Adun.

After an instant, though, she decided for the second.

Perhaps it was not exactly vulcan, but definitely it was worth to give in to that feeling of pride. And savour it all.

And, as much as she made efforts, she just could not help but make vibrate that pride in the intentionally curt exhortation that she directed at him.

"Do not interrupt again, T'hai'la. Go ahead."

Then, his influence, the ironic and jeering aptitude of him, peeped out inside her.

"We are in full pathos, as you would say. One can not break up the thread of the narrative. The pathos would suffer."

Trip laughed heartily, and went on.

* * *

The human slave-girl stood as motionless as a statue, in disbelief, holding the casket inert in her hands.

It was the Princess herself who roused her after a glance of understanding with the other slave girl, the elven one, who was staring at her with a look so full of pride that the Princess could not help but feel a pleasant warmth at the tips of her ears.

* * *

"Oh oh. A big problem the tips of these ears. Damn revealing, both for the Elves and for the Vulcans."

"Adun!"

"Oh. Nothing. Nothing."

* * *

"Would you be kind enough to hand me the casket that you bring me? And, above all, what is inside it? I would like to get up and I can't certainly continue to cover me with a blanket."

Yeah. With the blanket.

As before and after that...

The Princess's eyes ran by their own will towards the floor, looking for what her spiteful brain had made her recollect.

There. The dressing gown, the huge dressing gown with which he... with which he had covered her. So that she could get out bed. As now.

It was a moment. Shorter than the blink of an eye. She... she did not want to think about that robe.

She would... she would have used it nevermore!

She hoped that neither of the two slave-girls had noticed anything and thankfully it was so.

The elven one was too busy to feast her eyes on her, on her Princess, and the human too happy and too worried to fulfil promptly and zealously the wishes of her ... oh gods!... her - ALSO HERS! - Princess.

She hurried, ran to the bed, threw herself on her knees at its feet.

"Here! Here the casket! Here are your clothes, my Lady! Here they are!" With the face lit with joy turned toward her Princess. With the eyes beaming with happiness. With the arms outstretched toward her for handing her out the clothes as a gift, the only gift she could offer her, in exchange for all she was giving her.

"I do not want my damsels to kneel down before me. My damsels are the stick with which I can hold me up. Without them ... - _^Atana, where are you? You're alive, I know. But are you okay? When can I see you?^_ \- ... I owe my life to one of them. She did not hesitate to rush towards her death to save me."

And at that point the human slave-girl jumped up, still with the casket in her hands.

Indescribable, her fervour, in pronouncing - _in shouting, nearly_ \- what flowed rushing from her heart.

"And how could it ever be possible not to sacrifice life for you? Which _..." Oh, yes, yes, yes!_ "... which of your damsels could ever not be happy to do it?"

The Princess smiled softly and benevolently at those words, amused but also glad and proud, and with that smile brightening her lips, she turned to the elven slave-girl.

"Well, what do you think, my companion of breed?"

The girl stopped dead in her vigorous assent to the words of her companion. Her beautiful blue eyes focused on the Princess.

"Looks like I've found an unhoped damsel and friend."

The elven slave-girl raised fiercely her head, knitting her long eyelashes.

Without a word, she moved and joined her companion.

She placed herself at her side and stood so, erect and proud, watching straight in the eyes the Princess, while seeking in the same time for her mate's hand who, feeling and realizing what the other wanted to do, encircled in haste the casket with one of her arms and held up it in this way, freeing so her hand to respond with fervour to the gesture of her companion, who took it and held it strongly.

And, at that moment, just then, with their hands intertwined with each other with force, the elven young maiden spoke in a loud and confident voice.

"No, my Princess. If you grant me, you have found _two_ damsels and friends. My slavery companion and me. A human female and an elven female, united in their devotion for..."

Her human companion ended for her, with ardour, with fervour, while their hands gripped themselves between them vigorously in their mute, everlasting covenant.

"For you!"

* * *

"Oh my God! Poor Nameless One!"

T'Pol could not help but smile to herself in hearing the worried, almost dejected, exclamation of Trip. And, in all honesty, she had to admit to herself that her Adun was not mistaken. Not at all. Two damsels, two friends, two allies, willing to give even their lives for her, for the Princess! Found so, in no time at all. And one was a Human, the other an Elf, in addition. What would she, the Princess, have been capable of doing, later in time, but not too much, most likely, going ahead at this rate?

T'Pol made Trip understand that she had understood what he meant, without saying it clearly.

"Let's see if you're right, my Lord."

"My Lord? Oh yeah, sure, sure. Like the Nameless One for the Princess."

T'Pol's lips curled into a hidden smile.

"Do we want to see, my Lord?"

"All right, all right. Let's move on."

And so he did.

With some understandable hesitation.

* * *

A warm, confident, glad and regal smile lit up the sweet and proud face of the Princess.

"I am happy with that. But..." Her eyes twinkled slyly. "… there's still the fact that I continue to be naked under this blanket."

As caught out, the young human slave-girl literally jumped towards the bed, leaving abruptly the hand of her companion and offering the gilded casket to the Princess with both hers.

"Oh, my Lady! I beg humbly your pardon! Here again the clothes for you. Take out them from the casket, put them on and..."

But, suddenly, the little human slave stopped talking, with a strange expression in her eyes.

The Princess looked at her quizzically, just like her elven companion.

"What's there, my damsel? What goes through your mind?"

The girl swallowed, visibly embarrassed. Then she took courage.

"My... my Lady, I believe that before you wear the clothes I bring you enclosed in this casket, you need to tidy yourself up, maybe ... maybe even to meet some other need that you can have. Yours will be a long day, there's to believe, and... laborious, to speak euphemistically. And... and most likely devoid of privacy."

The Princess frowned. It seemed that everyone knew her needs better than how she herself was capable of doing, beginning by her... by her master, to finish by her new human damsel. But, in truth, neither the one nor the other was wrong.

"Well, actually..."

"But… but… but… if I can… if I can dare…" The human girl stammered uncomfortable, unable to say what she wanted to say.

The Princess gave her a friendly sign of encouragement with her head. "Well? What are you trying to say, my damsel?"

The girl managed to make it. She swallowed and then threw out all in one breath what she had in mind.

"I... I think this is not enough. And not even the clothes. You, my Lady, you need... you deserve something much more!"

"Ah. And what would it be, this _'much more'_ that I would deserve?"

The girl swallowed again, then, once again, she plucked up courage.

"Here, my Lady... if... if I can venture, after... after you will have fulfilled your needs and… before you wear your clothes, I and my companion will be happy to take care of you. We're good at this. We will fix up you like a Queen! "

The Princess smiled gently, for nothing at all irked by the girl's words, but, rather, indubitably flattered and pleased. And amused. "I am not a Queen. I am a Princess."

"Like... like a Princess, then! A wonderful Princess, as you are. You... you have to appear to those, to _all_ those who are found here, such as the beautiful, regal, unique Princess that you are!"

And her elven companion, who until then, had listened with a puzzled expression and vaguely disapproving, nodded emphatically.

The phrase of the human girl impacted with strength the Princess's mind. She raised an eyebrow, with a puzzled look and also a little scared, because, in the undercurrent of her reply, there was a definite fear. A sad awareness.

"To all? Not only to our Lord and Master?"

The human slave-girl replied precipitously.

"To him! To him, of course! For him you... you, my Lady... you will have to unite in you the silver charm of the moon and the glorious splendour of the sun! For him! He... he will have... he will have... will have to… to feel overwhelmed! Overwhelmed! Ov… overwhelmed with astonishment at the sight of the treasure chest of beauty that... that it was given him the supreme fortune to own! And... and to open! But... but if his volition... if his volition will be... that of showing to the world and not keeping only for himself the beauty of which he is the master, in this case all the more so you, my Lady, will have to be even more beautiful, even more radiant, even more... more princely! Everyone! Everyone will have to feel enchanted by your beauty! Everyone will have to see who you are!"

The Princess felt almost overcome by the enthusiasm of the little slave, but, incredibly, the elven slave was no less than her slavery mate.

"Yes! Yes My Lady! It's so! My companion is right! And... and..." The elven slave raised proudly her head. Her eyes took on a firm expression. "And our Lord and Master will have to experience the bite of jealousy at seeing the ecstatic admiration of those who will have the good fortune to enjoy the vision of your beauty!"

Strange words. Strange.

The Princess furrowed her eyebrows.

There could be something in those words... like a… a desire for revenge against the one who had enslaved the two girls? As if, somehow, the idea that that monster in human form could suffer - _suffer from jealousy_ \- could be a sort of revenge on the part of the two slaves against him? The only revenge that the two of them could think that they could have? By means of... her?

Perhaps there was also this, in those bizarre words. But... - the Princess nodded to herself - ... but, above all, there was the desire to make her the very image of beauty, to pay homage to her, to do for her everything the two of them could do, that is, make her look like the Princess she was, that they wanted her to be.

And why would she have had to disappoint them?

Why would she have had to refuse their heartfelt offering? Their commitment? Their… dedication?

And... and then...

Strange thoughts, in her, once again. Strange. Even strangest than the words of the elven slave-girl.

And… and then, it wouldn't have been a bad thing for that monster to come to realize... to realize, well beyond what he had understood already... to realize _what_ had fallen into his hands, and... maybe... yes, suffer... suffer from... jealousy.

Just so.

She was his, she belonged to him. And the Princess did not want to dwell on the many meanings of what it could mean that she belonged to him.

And, for sure, everything belonged to him, there.

All things. All people.

But not the thoughts.

The thoughts didn't belong to him. It couldn't be.

He was not the master of the thoughts.

The thoughts are free. They can not be caged.

But, sometimes, they can be perceived. If they are intense. If they can't be hidden. If they make show of themselves on the faces of those who have them.

 _Like... like the thoughts of those who, in front of her beauty, would have felt yearning to possess her._

Why… why not? Why not, if she had been really so lovely and... and desirable, because the two things could not but go hand in hand, as the two girls said they wanted and were able to make her?

Sad and hard had been the Princess's life, in recent times. And certainly there had been no place in it for frivolities, for clothes that were not war clothes.

But not so it had been in the years of her childhood. And in the years when her beauty, her still unripe beauty of young maiden, had begun to sprout out and then to flower luxuriantly.

Not unknown to her were the looks of admiration and desire. Those with which the noble young elven males had watched her. She knew what they wanted to say.

And she'd liked being admired and... courted, too, before the storm had swept everything away.

She knew, knew perfectly well, that she was beautiful... and desirable.

But she also knew that it was a long a time that there had been no hands that could take care of her, as it had once been. Now, however, those girls said they wanted to do it and they said that they would have been able to make her beauty shine like never before.

To make her desirable like never.

So why not to believe that those to whom it had been allowed to see her after... after the work of the two young girls would have really felt desire for her? Desire to... possess her? As... as it had been for those elven males? Or rather... No. That they would not have been able to suppress the desire for her, to the point that their desire would have been palpable? As it had been… she remembered very well… for those elven males?

So then… so then why not to think, too, that he, that… that beast, could suffer in perceiving the thoughts of those to whom she would offer the tantalizing view of the beauty that she knew she had and that the two slave-girls asserted they would have known how to exalt?

Illusion? Maybe, indeed surely. But... but maybe not completely, because... because she had felt, in all its strength, the sense of possession that he, that human beast, had had for her; she had felt it, without any possible doubt; in the ways... in the ways with which... with which she - _just she! She herself!_ \- had allowed him to have.

The Princess felt a heartache inside her that she desperately strived to ignore, to suppress.

Because it was not a heartache for what she had done. It was a heartache due to the awareness that she had put herself in the condition not to longer do what she had done. Not to longer let him feel that sense of possession over her he had been able to feel by her own... by her own desire.

But even this thought, she ignored, she suppressed.

It was... it was a mendacious thought.

She forced her brain to come back to the thought of before. To the thought of her possible revenge.

Miserable revenge? Miserable, against the monster who had made of her his slave? Who had made her... his? Who ... _Oh gods!_... who had induced her even to - _How? But how, everlasting gods?!_ \- to... to want to be his?

Maybe. Perhaps indeed a miserable revenge. But still a revenge! The only revenge she could think she could have. Exactly as the two slave-girls.

Or, rather, that she could think she could maybe - _Maybe. Absurdly._ \- have.

The Princess realized the absurdity of her thoughts, was fully aware. But something, inside her, didn't want her to recognize such a nonsense.

Something inside her... and she did not allowed herself to investigate what was this something... drove her to answer the two slaves in the way she answered them.

Fiercely. Firmly.

"All right, my damsels. Let's do this way."

And – fiercely, firmly, without any shame - the Princess threw herself off the bed and stood up, in all her resplendent nudity.

She smiled at the two slave-girls, who had remained of stone.

"I know the way. When I've finished, I'll call you. I'm sure that you'll be able to make of me a Princess worthy of the name."

Then, without waiting any longer, naked and magnificent, she turned her back to the two slaves and, at the ringing of her chain, once more she reached the place that by now she knew.

She opened the curtain that shut the passage.

The curtain closed behind her.

It did not take her long.

She called.

"I'm ready."

The curtain opened. The two slave-girls came in with caution and respect.

For some moments they watched the Princess, admiring her fascinating beauty.

If their Lord and Master had shamefully profaned that beauty, fate would have punished him.

Atrociously.

That desecration would have marked the beginning of his end.

* * *

"But he has not profaned that beauty!"

It was T'Pol, this time, who didn't know how to restrain herself. And Trip's hand gently squeezed her naked breast, forgetful for a moment of the risks he ran by doing so.

But it was not wrong to do so; indeed it was right, as well as beautiful.

It was like saying with that so intimate gesture... _Certainly, it is so. Do not worry, my love. It's like you say._

And T'Pol quivered with delight and pleasure at that gentle grasp and at his words.

"No, T'Pol. There has been no desecration. There has been something quite different."

T'Pol clung to Trip, savouring the sweet, exciting warmth of his hand. She did not want to give up that wonderful touch, as much as dangerous it could be in her new state.

That touch, that hand on her naked breast, were a tangible sign of what existed between her and her Adun. Of what... of what had been that night between the Princess and the Nameless One. No profanation. There had been...

T'Pol sighed, fighting against the delicious thrill of arousal that the hand of her Adun provoked in her. That torturing, tormenting sensation. So beautiful to be excruciating, so beautiful that she did not want to give it up, that she wanted to continue to be held on the cutting edge by that forbidden hand, by her Adun.

And perhaps this too was due to the new condition in which she now was, to the fires - the first fires - of the Pon Far that her beloved had kindled in her.

She wanted to be burned in those fires.

She wanted to savour moment by moment the sensual, magical torture of their scorching heat.

She closed her eyes, relishing and at the same time fighting the sense of delightful warmth that stirred inside her, everywhere, but especially... especially there, over there, in the bottom of her belly and... and even more down.

She would have succumbed, sooner or later.

She would have to surrender.

But not now.

Still... still a bit.

But how could she do to resist?

She had to... had to get distracted!

She had to dive back in the fairy tale.

Low and husky, her voice urged her Adun.

"Go ahead, Ashayam."

She pressed spasmodically her thighs against each other.

Not yet!

 _Not yet!_

"I want to read along with you! I…"

Hoarse, yet, and perhaps even more. Laboriously, even. And with, interspersed among the words, not a few sighs and whimpers which spoke volumes.

"… I… I want to… _oh_ … to find out once more at… _ah_ … at… mh… at the sound of your voice what… _oh_ … what… _oh_ … what really there has been that… _mh_ … that night between the Princess and… _ah_ … the... _mh_... the Nameless One!"

Let us not be fooled. Trip was fully aware of what was happening to T'Pol. There was no need of the Bond to understand it. It was enough the slight tremor that he felt that pervaded her body, the perception of the intense heat - _of the smell_ \- emanating now from that body. And if to all this you added the hoarse sound of her voice, the way she was keeping her eyes shut, forcefully, and the manifestly perceptible difficulty she spoke with, not to mention the sighs and the whimpers... well, everything appeared perfectly clear and obvious. And then - damn! - he was Trip, her man, and, of her, he was able to perceive and understand everything! Bond or not.

But T'Pol didn't want to yield, even this was perfectly clear. She didn't want to do it. Why? Well, maybe she liked that sweet torment. Indeed, certainly it was so. Trip knew it, he knew very well his T'Pol. The longer the wait, the greater the pleasure. This way of saying did suit perfectly to the T'Pol of before the Pon Far, let alone now!

And she didn't want to put in display all this or, at least, was endeavouring to do so.

So then? So then, in the end, do not forget, Trip was a gentleman.

Mocking, stubborn, unpredictable, volatile, illogical and so on and so on. But still a gentleman. And, in addition, he knew that T'Pol loved very much that he were so, namely mocking, stubborn, unpredictable, volatile, illogical and so on and so on and, at the same time, in spite of all this and beyond and above all this, a gentleman.

And, still in addition… oh well, it was to be thought that T'Pol needed help.

And… mocking, stubborn, unpredictable, volatile, illogical and so on and so on, okay. But…

 _He. Was. A. Gentleman. Full stop!_

So, he gave no sign of having perfectly understood chapter and verse what was passing through her.

With a doing absolutely quiet, almost seraphic, but allowing roguishly himself - _well, gentleman, sure, but still an incorrigible rascal -_ to resume tormenting mildly T'Pol's breast - _not too much; the just, just the just_ \- he restarted to read.

While T'Pol stifled the moan that rose to her lips.

* * *

The two slave-girls roused themselves.

They had a job to do. An important job.

They looked around looking for something with which they could have done that job.

And consternation grabbed them.

In that recess, that filthy corner of the tent, there was virtually nothing that they could use. Nothing. Except water and some scant piece of soap.

They looked at each other with lost expression, in front of the Princess, who looked at them in turn, with a slight smile on her mouth, waiting.

With the same lost expression, the two slave girls turned their eyes toward her.

Her smile broadened. A warm, confident smile.

"I am certain, my damsels, that you will be able to work wonders ..." They heard her silvery laugh. "...with your Princess."

The expression of the two girls changed before you could say knife.

They looked at each other once again, but this time on their faces there was a fair and decisive air.

They nodded to each other.

Yes, it was true. There was practically nothing there, in that dingy ghost of bathroom, that they could use.

But they would have known how to do.

They would have turned that stinking hole in a sumptuous bathroom, worthy of a royal castle.

They would have made the Princess, already wonderfully beautiful, even more beautiful.

Her blond hair would have gleamed by the light of the sun and even more.

Her skin would have been more fragrant than the most fragrant flowers.

Her green eyes would have shone brighter than the brightest stars.

Her delicious ears would have lured the caresses.

Her full lips would have lured the kisses.

Eyes gaping in amazed admiration would have watched her.

A silence of astonished wonder would have surrounded _their_ Princess.

Water and some piece of soap? All right. Agree.

But there were also their hands.

And their hands were skilled.

The two slave-girls set themselves in action.

Their virtuous hands began their sagacious work.

* * *

"Wow! It feels like to see the preparation of the favourite slave girl of the harem for the Sultan!"

"Trip!"

Abruptly, T'Pol drew herself to sit on Trip's lap, looking fiercely at him, forgetful even of his hand, which had inevitably slipped away from its position. And, ultimately, this was not at all a bad thing, given her situation.

Could it be that Trip had done on purpose to come out with that observation that had provoked T'Pol's reaction?

Well, it was exactly so. All in all, Trip was more a gentleman than a rascal, although the spiteful little devil inside him never stopped making himself heard.

But things didn't go exactly as he had thought they should go.

That sentence of him, that wisecrack, rather foolish at the end of the day, that he had made... T'Pol had not liked it at all.

And if you want to know why... well, let's not forget. T'Pol was a Vulcan female. Very, very, very possessive with regard to her man.

To the point of being irrational. She. A Vulcan. To the point of seeing shadows where shadows were not there.

"You are the usual libertine!"

Trip widened his eyes. It was not exactly this one the reaction he had expected from T'Pol in making that observation. He had wanted to distract her, of course. And in his own way. But that reaction from her... why? And then… but possible that never she had half measures?

"Me? Libertine? But if the only pleasures of the flesh that I have are the ones that I have with you!"

"Do you see? You are a libertine. Your very way of expressing yourself bears witness about that. In... the practice, no. That's true. You are not. And I strongly advise you not to let your mind be crossed by such an idea. Not even remotely."

Trip shuddered. And that's not a mere figure of speech.

Damn! Certainly T'Pol didn't run the slightest risk in this regard, but, by golly, just the thought of what would happen to him if ever such a fact had occurred... oh God! It gave the creeps!

"T... T'Pol..."

"However in the manners, sometimes, and in the words and in the thoughts... yes, you're so, my dear Adun. If not, how could it have occurred to your mind the idea to compare the... preparation that the two slave-girls are innocently doing to the Princess with the preparation far from being innocent that the bondwomen of the harem of a sultan can do to his favourite female? The two slave-girls, the acquired new damsels of the Princess, are simply putting in place all their skills to give her the look she deserves! It is important that she may appear to everyone in her best form and most dazzling!"

Trip scowled. For a moment by anger at T'Pol's dry words, full of reproach. But immediately after...

 _^Hey, but...^_

Mh, interesting what T'Pol said. Very interesting. Indicative that something had stung her to the quick. When she did so... well, it was usually because he had touched something she was holding inside her and she had felt discovered by him. So, let's see. What had she said? That he was a libertine. And by reaction to what? To what he had said. And what had he said? He had talked of Sultans, of Harems, of Sultans' Favourites and of preparations. Peculiar preparations. Very peculiar. And... oh oh!... and T'Pol had perfectly understood! Indeed, her words per se clearly showed that she knew perfectly well what was being talking about.

So, what stood to mean all this?

All right, his joke might have awakened in her that feeling of possessiveness that he had come to know very well. She did not like at all that he could linger with his mind on other women, did not like at all that he could imagine situations where there was a woman who was not her.

She and only she could be in his mind!

However... mh, however, there was something else.

And what was this something else? It was that T'Pol had fully understood what he was talking about.

Harems, Sultans, Sultans' Favourites. And preparations.

And, indeed, she herself had explained, in a sense, what was behind his joke, about which, frankly, he had not even posed to himself the issue if she could or not grasp it in its deep meaning. It was a joke that he had made more to himself than to her, even if with the intent to distract her a little from the internal struggle that she was stubbornly - stubbornly, sure, but... eh, she was T'Pol - carrying out.

She had grasped it in full, instead, so much so that she had called him a libertine.

As if his thought, in making that joke, had lingered on the licentiousness of the image he had evoked.

Which was true. But T'Pol could know that it was true only if aware of what was subtended to that image.

In the last analysis, putting it all together, all this meant that T'Pol knew exactly what were... Harems, Sultans, Sultans' Favourites. And preparations.

 _^Very well, my naive vulcan doll. Very well.^_

At that point Trip could not help but grin, which peeved T'Pol, increasing her un-vulcan-like irritation.

"What now? Why that grin?"

"Oh well, my sweetness, let me say that you seem rather knowledgeable about the frivolities that can happen in a Harem. Your usual scientific curiosity, I can imagine, right?"

T'Pol felt her ears become inexorably hot.

This, of course, did not escape Trip, who realized that he had hit the mark. And, at that moment, his inner little devil suggested him an additional tip. Oh my gosh! You had to consider that T'Pol's _'scientific curiosity'_ was really very great and if along with this scientific curiosity you put a certain propensity to every kind of curiosity, maybe non precisely scientific, maybe even rather… steamy, that - no wonder - had found flammable fuel in the relationship, quite... fiery, born between them...

You knew. She had a... very open mind!

 _^Well. Let's see a little, boy. Smile. Slightly maliciously. Yes. In this way. Okay. Now go.^_

"And, if I know a little you, I would be inclined to think that this scientific curiosity has led you to range over many areas of the literature of my planet, not only in Oriental literature, the one where it is narrated of Harems and of habits and customs of Harems and maybe not only of Harems. _One Thousand and One Nights_ , just to be clear. In the… broadest sense of the term. You know, at this point, I have the distinct feeling that you know very well this particular collection of novellas. And, I don't know, I have also the distinct feeling that your scientific curiosity prompted you to explore not only the literary art, but also other art forms."

Trip's grin grew decidedly sly, while the heat at the tips of T'Pol's ears was quickly becoming decidedly intense.

"Am I wrong, heart of my heart?"

T'Pol's nostrils flared.

Damn Adun! Sometimes his damned intuitive ability, as much as highly appreciable it was, drove crazy! Really! Possible that he was always capable of noticing everything? Actually... actually she had allowed herself to indulge in reading many types of Earth literature, let's put it this way, and... and it was not very innocent stories. Like... like some oriental stories quite explicit in the field and... some other stories, coming from other... literary contexts, equally if not more explicit, with the addition of... ahem... of some fruitful… tutorial. Eh sure. Tutorial. All in all it was not wrong to call this way the... videos she had seen, because they had revealed themselves rather useful. Fruitful, in fact, to say it correctly. Actually all that stuff, not only the videos, had been rather useful to her in... many circumstances, with Trip.

And she told him. She didn't attempt to refute his insights. The best defence is a good offense. It had been just him who had taught her this nice aphorism.

"I believe that my scientific curiosity in this regard may have proved to be of some use, in our... relationship."

Trip laughed openly.

"Oh, maybe. But I'm not so sure." He winked at her with a cunning way of doing. "I am persuaded, proof in hand, that you, my sweetheart, possess an innate predisposition on the subject."

The heat at T'Pol's ears became scorching.

"Trip, do not ..."

"All right, all right, I apologize." Then he smiled sweetly. "But mine wanted to be a compliment, T'Pol."

T'Pol's annoyance cooled down on the shot, as well as the warmth at her ears. She hugged tightly her Trip.

"Oh Trip, forgive me! I manage always to offend you!"

"Oh, but if it were not so, you would not be you. And what the hell should I do of a woman who's not you?"

And so, T'Pol's ears went back to being hot, though for another and better reason.

But the heat at her ears was destined to increase further.

Eh sure. Because that damn of her Adun didn't cease to strike an already sufficiently hot iron.

First of all, with quiet and solemn air, he said "And then, sweetheart… _Nam-tor ri thrap wilat nem-tor rim._ "Trip smiled warmly _. "There is no offense when none is taken._ "

And can anyone imagine the heat that T'Pol felt at her ears and in her Katra in hearing her Adun quote Surak's words - and in her native language! - to justify her behaviour? Basically to tell her in unquestionable terms that, whatever she had said or done to him, for him there would ever been no offence on her part toward him?

Then, for good measure, he said something yet, that, by a hair, literally failed to make boil the ears of T'Pol. To say nothing of her heart.

"And you must not feel shame for your readings or anything else you may have decided to know. Apart from the fact that - how many times have we said this to each other, my love? - you are a very special vulcan female and aside from the fact that innocence does not need stupid and itchy rules, I know - I know well - that at the basis of your readings or anything else there is not exactly your scientific curiosity. There's something decidedly nicer. Something marvellous."

He grinned blissful.

"This little tale... the tale of your scientific curiosity… it was possible for you to think of telling me this tale once, as you did that morning, the morning after our first night. But, now, I do not fall longer into your trap, or, rather, I do not even try to pretend to fall into it, as I did at that time and for your benefit. Mh… also for mine, to tell the truth." **()**

His lips caressed T'Pol's hair.

"Scientific curiosity? Scientific curiosity my ass! That time, you simply wanted me. And speaking of your readings or whatever else you may have done... T'Pol! You, merely, want to be liked by me! In... in every respect! And this… it doesn't displease me at all and I can not find it at all shameful. I find it... wonderful!"

And T'Pol's ears became hot more than ever. And her heart melted by heat.

In those ears, in one of them, Trip's voice whispered. Just to complete the job.

"However, T'Pol, beyond everything, are we really sure that the preparation of the Princess is truly dissimilar to the preparation of the Sultan's Favourite?"

T'Pol lifted her head from Trip's chest and looked at him quizzically, raising her eyebrow.

"What do you mean?"

"T'Pol, all right, it's true. The two slave-girls want her to be in every way - _appear in every way_ \- as the magnificent Princess that she is. And she too wants it. But, maybe, she just doesn't want only this or, better said, her aims are not precisely in all respects the aims of the two slave-girls."

"Ah. And what..."

T'Pol stopped dead.

She understood. Perfectly.

And Trip smiled, realizing that she had understood.

"T'Pol, my joy, we have read everything that went through her mind. We have read. She knows it. Knows that her master will come again in that tent. She knows that she will have to show herself to him again. And she no longer will wear her war robes, nor, even less, she will be lying naked in a bed waiting for her fate. She - that's what she wants - will show herself to him in her glory. In her splendour, T'Pol. The Princess can also desperately twist her mind in the hopeless attempt to deny to herself the truth, but this is what she wants. She wants him to remain madly struck, _dazzled_ , even more than it has been before, by her beauty. By her. And…" Trip grinned. "…T'Pol, this is true in any case, whether she meets him again inside the tent or outside. But…" More than a grin, now it was a sly smirk. "…with a pinch of something more, in this second case." An impish wink went to accompany the smirk. "Eh sure, because in such an eventuality, the Princess will inevitably be exposed not only to his sight."

T'Pol, at this point, literally was hanging on Trip's every word.

His sly smirk turned into an ironic chuckle. "The revenge, you will say. The absurd revenge of which the Princess babbles to herself."

T'Pol continued to listen without a murmur.

The chuckle became a frank laugh. "Oh, T'Pol! Revenge. Revenge my ass! Let me tell you... even more than in the case of your scientific curiosity!"

Perhaps T'Pol should have felt offended, at hearing Trip talk in that way, but, apart from the fact that, at that time, there would have been need really of a lot of courage to feel offended after he had told her that never he would feel offended by her... and... and he had had very, very often lots and lots of good reasons to feel so and... and it would be happened again, foolish to lie to herself... Apart from all this, there was the fact, not really insignificant, that he was telling the truth, and, in addition, precisely the truth that she had arrived to grasp thanks to him.

T'Pol found herself sighing, not even she knew whether by resignation or by contentment. Maybe for both. But maybe... maybe... or rather certainly, the latter prevailed.

Her T'hai'la. Oh her T'hai'la!

Mocking, stubborn, unpredictable, volatile, illogical and so on and so on! Such was he! To such an extent that sometimes she longed to… to kick him in the ass! Just like that! Although, she could not deny it, she was capable of being even worse, to be honest.

But… but how much acute and perceptive and insightful was he capable of being!

And he was hers!

Hers was the man who at that moment was unravelling point by point the thread, the true thread, of the fable.

His intuitive capabilities? Certainly, but he had also learned - and, as smart as he was, it hadn't then been too difficult to him - to organize his insights within logical diagrams in a way the others weren't capable of doing and much better than how he was able to do previously. Because now there was her. Yes. This was due to her, to her influence, because it was certainly not only him, between them two, the one who was able to exert influence on the other.

And at that thought, the thought that thanks to her, her Trip had become even smarter and abler than how he was already... well, at that thought, T'Pol found herself sighing again. And this time she was sure. For contentment. Because he was so and because she had been able to make him so.

A twofold contentment.

And a twofold pride.

And she had good reason. It was enough to hear what he was saying.

His words continued to settle down inside her.

"That sooner or later the Princess will come out of that tent... well, this is bound to happen. I do not know how and where it will happen; it's you the one who knows it, my dear vulcan doll. You've read the fable already; I haven't done yet. But, be that as it may, in any way it will happen, at any time it will happen... it will happen."

Trip paused, as if to collect his ideas, then he went on, in a strange tone, playful yet serious at the same time.

Only he could be able to do it! This was the thought of T'Pol. And it was not a baseless thought.

"The Nameless One himself has said this, in a sense. Indeed, not in a sense. In black and white. He has said that he has plans for the Princess and how might he use her for his plans by keeping her segregated in that tent? The only reason that he could have for doing it would be that his plans for her are merely of wanting to use her for... for only one thing. But not only he made it clear that other are his plans, there's also to say that fortunately we are now certain that he doesn't want to play with the Princess only this play. Indeed perhaps, even, he doesn't want to play this game anymore. It has hurt him... too much."

Trip took another short break, looking like if he was trying to digest the bitter taste of what he himself had said.

But then he smiled cheerfully. "But something tells me he will change his mind, eh T'Pol?"

T'Pol did not smile, but her eyes did.

Trip made an amused chuckle.

"Okay, let's go on. What are the Nameless One's plans, once again I do not know. It's you, sweetie, the one who already knows them. But I do not care, for the moment. Another is the point, at this time. The point is that the Princess will come out of the tent. And, at that moment, she will have to appear to the view. Everyone's view. Sure, it can't be excluded that the Nameless One can come back to her in the tent accompanied by someone else, but this really seems very unlikely and, apparently, I'm in the right, considering that you, my girl, already in the know of everything, do not contradict what I say. No. Or in the tent, alone with her, or outside the tent, but, in this case, inevitably not alone with her. He certainly can not make disappear all people with the wave of a magic wand! He is a monster, not a magician!"

Trip chuckled at his own joke and even T'Pol, to tell the truth, did not remain insensitive. Eh, by now she was lost. Trip had entered too much into her veins!

He resumed talking.

"Of course, even in case he were returning to her inside the tent not alone, the recondite purposes of the Princess, so recondite…" - another wink – "… that not even she knows them, could equally achieve the wanted result. Not for nothing she wants to amaze him with her beauty. Let us not forget this, T'Pol, my girl. Let's not forget, because this yearning of her, even if she is apparently unaware, has a precise purpose. But first things first. So then. If it must happen that she can not meet up again alone with him - I repeat... _alone_ … - well, better outside the tent, much better. Because, outside the tent, everyone, really everyone, will be there to see her. Or, if not all, a great amount of people, which cannot but facilitate the Princess's aims, unknown - opportune to reiterate - even to her. But I am inclined to think that everyone, really everyone, truly all, will see her." A further wink. "Eh, T'Pol? And among these all... there is the Sultan."

"The… the Nameless One."

"Just him. Perhaps calling him Sultan is not quite correct, but all in all... – Trip grinned. – "…poetic license."

T'Pol failed to prevent her lips from bending in a smile. How was it possible not doing so with that rascal of her damn Adun?

It was her who spoke. "So everyone will see her."

"Yes, T'Pol, everyone. Is that that will happen, darlin'? Tell me."

T'Pol nodded. "Actually… yes. It will happen so. And everyone will see how..."

"How beautiful she is. Right, T'Pol?" An extremely quick hesitation, accompanied by a fast worried glance, then Trip added rapidly and vigorously "Of course! She's you!"

Eh, better to put immediately in place some useful clarifications. T'Pol was capable of being more than ever irrational - and... ahem... dangerous - if he had lingered a bit too much in praising the beauty of women who were not her. There had been already some inkling of this peculiar predisposition of her, of this her own distinctive... trademark, just some moments before. Decidedly expedient to be cautious.

T'Pol did not seem to notice the fury with which Trip had hurried to point out. She seemed to be totally engulfed in savouring the new vision that he had managed to give her about the true intentions of the Princess. About her _'revenge'_.

However the figures didn't add up, yet.

She looked at Trip significantly, as if seeking guidance. Which was totally true.

Trip smiled. "You're wondering how I could have said that the Princess's revenge is not at all a revenge? You're wondering what it actually is? "

T'Pol nodded again.

"See T'Pol, I do not exclude that, somehow, she wants revenge on the Nameless One, although for very different reasons from those that she kneads within herself."

T'Pol ignored the colourful verb used by Trip. It was obvious what he meant. "That is to say?"

"We might even think that she wants to take revenge on him because he made of her his slave, not to mention what he did to Atana, but, frankly, I am not inclined to accept this type of explanation, though, certainly, it is the most logical. You know, we must not forget that the Princess is a woman."

T'Pol raised a distrustful eyebrow. "And with this?"

"Well, my joy, she gave him herself. I mean to him. To the Nameless One, obviously. And not by his will, but by hers. By hers, do you remember? Blackmail or not on his part. She has not given in to his blackmail. She succumbed to her desire. And this... well this is intolerable! _Damned Human!_ _But how has he dared? He must suffer for having induced her to do what she wanted to do!_ "

Trip smiled. "A wee bit illogical, eh, heart of my heart? But women are illogical. I know it well."

T'Pol's eyebrow went further up. "You know it well?"

Trip's smile became blatant. "I know of one certain female who manages to be illogical in the most logical way."

T'Pol snorted. "I do not know what you mean."

Trip laughed. "Here, do you see? How you would say... _quod erat demonstrandum_. And I'm sure you know what it means."

T'Pol realized that it was better not to go further. She certainly could not say to be on the side of reason. Better to let it go and continue exploring Trip's thought. She knew that it was worth it.

"But if it is not simple revenge... actually, you said..."

"Revenge my ass! Yes. I have said so. And I reaffirm it!"

"But... but then... what does the Princess want exactly? If it is not revenge what she really wants, what does she want to happen, by arousing the jealousy of the... Sultan?"

"Oh she does not know, T'Pol! She is too busy to fool herself, but, if you think about it, it is the same thing that she would like to see happen in the event that he wanted to meet her back inside the tent alone. Of course, outside the tent, in the condition of throng that we have said, it is easier to happen, there are more chances, it must be said. Inside the tent, alone with him, she can only rely on her beauty. But outside the tent... But T'Pol! Think well about it! Dozens and dozens of eyes - male eyes - will see her. Dozens and dozens of hearts - men's hearts - will want her. And the Sultan will notice it. So then, what will he think possibly of doing, maybe even against his own will itself? What will he be possibly induced to do?"

T'Pol blinked, perplexed, in an effort to understand." I... I do not understand. "

Trip smiled again. A little gently, a little with understanding and a lot slyly.

"Babe, do you remember what did you do when you felt the pangs of jealousy for what you thought was going on between me and Amanda Cole?"

T'Pol felt anger mount inside her. "What I remember is that you have led me to believe you and Amanda Cole had an… affair, so as to make me jealous." **(())**

Trip's smile was angelic. "Exactly."

"And so I ..."

Now Trip's smile was seraphic. No. It was the smile of a cherub. "Exactly."

For a moment, T'Pol could not stop. "So I..."

Then she understood. Wide-eyed, she continued automatically to say what she was saying, putting one after the other the words in the manner of a mechanical repeater. "So... I... have... been ... induced... to... " **(())**

Trip laughed merrily. "Do not go beyond, my life! We understood each other!"

T'Pol gulped. She swallowed down the mouthful. It seemed to her to have recomposed enough herself. "So..." Perhaps the tone of her voice was a little too shrill, but, more, she really could not do. "So... is it... this, what the Princess wants?"

"Well, T'Pol. Certainly she does not know. As we have already said to ourselves, she's too busy to hide to herself what her heart knows. But her heart knows. Knows that it wants the Nameless One. But she, its proprietress - or rather, that smartass of her brain - has decided to ignore the voice of the heart. "

Trip winked one more time. "It reminds me of someone, who knows who."

T'Pol snorted noisily. "I would appreciate you to go ahead with your explanations, my perspicacious Lord."

Trip nodded, more seraphic than ever. "As my little wife wants. So, let's see. Her heart, the heart of the Princess, must devise a way to outwit her mind. How? Well, it's complicated, but not too much. For example, one could arouse the jealousy of the Nameless one. Obviously, the purpose of this should not be clear to the mind, consequently... mh, let's see a little. What if we make pass everything as a desire for revenge? An unlikely revenge, that's for sure. But for a clouded mind, for a mind that does not want to know... easy to trick such a kind of blind mind, isn't it?"

"So... so it's the heart that pushes the Princess to ... to ..."

"Sure, T'Pol. Without knowing it, she is following her heart." Trip smiled sweetly. "Just like, in the end, you did."

There it was again. The heat at the ears. Dang! T'Pol pretended that heat weren't apparent. "So, ultimately, what the Princess wants..."

"What her heart wants, T'Pol."

"Okay. What her heart wants is that ..."

Trip took on a serious air. "T'Pol, my love. The Nameless One wants her, wants the Princess. And he wants her far beyond... far beyond... the pleasures of the flesh. And she wants him. She wants him with all her heart. He is a monster. Is soulless. Is bad. Is merciless. And yet it seems that in him there's a strange sort nobility, in a sense, and I don't say that because he is me. The monster that is in him in the end has never really come out of the closet. He has not torn the Princess with the fangs of his ruthlessness from the beginning, ever since the moment where there would have been no wonder if he had done it, because the glimmers of the feeling born inside him for her were not even discernible yet. In the place of the soul he has a granite boulder. He has the face of a beast. But is not a beast. And that mass of granite shows a lot of cracks, before her, in front of the Princess, I mean. He... he is, in his own way, great in his grim ruthlessness. And the Princess knows that, someway she knows. Perhaps it's even possible that the Princess may have nebulously perceived this uncanny greatness that stirs inside him and that she may have been fascinated by him also for that. But despite all this, she rejected him. _Her mind_ rejected him. And now, what can she do to get him back? She can not go to him and tell him... _take me!_ _Take me again!_ _I am yours!_ It not only would be realistically impossible, it would also be impossible for her, for her mind, to conceive to do it. But it could be him to do it. It could be him to take her again, to make her his. To ask her to be his. In his own way, that's fine. But what difference could this ever have? _His. His again. And... maybe forever!_ And... in front of his request, however this may be asked, how could her mind oppose yet? How could it not be victorious, this time, her heart?"

T'Pol was literally speechless. But who could possess the acumen of her beloved?

And who, who ever was capable of talking like him?

And to think that there were people who thought that he weren't able to set up a coherent speech!

He knew how to do this! And how! When it was necessary.

He. Her beloved.

Her beloved! HER BELOVED!

The PADD again abandoned on the sofa, Trip's hands girded gently T'Pol's amazed face.

His eyes were sparkling with love.

"T'Pol, my little doll, my wonderful sweet, little, stubborn, vulcan doll. My Life. This is what the Princess wants. This is what her heart wants. She - her heart - wants to be more beautiful than ever so that he can like her even more than before, and I really think, considering she is you, perhaps even just for this simple pleasure. But also, and this is extremely important, to induce him to ask her to make her his again and, this time, much, much more solidly. More deeply. More knowingly. But, perhaps, this might not be enough, maybe he, burnt and, on top of that, let's face it, humiliated - a thing this one that of course he, who has been humiliated too many times in the past, hates - really might want not to have anything more to do with her except for his purposes, purposes other than those that she unconsciously would want him still to have. So? Let's make him jealous. And how? Well, sooner or later people other than him will have to see her. So, where she - her heart - weren't yet been able to achieve her goal, she will still have this card to play. His jealousy. In the meantime, let's emphasize this fact, regardless of any implicit purpose, it is nice to be able to make jealous the one you love, if jealousy is simply the reflection of the love that the one you love feels for you and nothing more. But, beyond that, she hopes - without knowing it - that if her beauty were not enough, it will be his jealousy, the jealousy he will feel in front of the eyes - in front of the thoughts - of those who will see her in all her dazzling beauty, to push him to do what her heart desperately wants him to do. Her heart wants to make amends, T'Pol. Somehow it wants to have one more chance."

Trip paused again. A little longer this time. Damn! How much had he spoken! He was not used to make so long speeches! He even felt dry throat!

And T'Pol was watching him in silent wonder.

Well, of course! When ever had she heard him speak so long?

Her fault! Her fault. Her influence on him was ... was abysmal! She had really entered his veins!

He... he had even learned to strike up long, logical speeches!

Damn her!

And it was not over yet! He still had a little something to say.

"Of course, there is the risk that the Nameless One might react in another way, perhaps even by demonstrating publicly that there is only one person who can claim rights over her. But I do not think he will do so. It's not like him. I am wrong, my sweetie?"

T'Pol denied vigorously and emphatically with her head. "No! You are not wrong, Adun! Absolutely not! The Nameless One will not react in this way when he will see the Princess in her... in her effulgence, in... in full light, outside the tent. In full view even to the eyes of his gang of warriors and of his servants and slaves."

"Ah. So, I have not made wrong reasonings, my baby doll. So, in effect their new encounter will happen as I have thought it to happen. Outside the tent. And in the presence of all. And... what will the Nameless One do, honey? He... mh, no. Do not tell me anything." He laughed softly. "Do not deprive me of the suspense."

Then he winked at her again. "Anyway, whether he will put it in display or not, I am sure that he will feel jealousy. Regardless of how he will react, by realizing straight away or later in time the unsaid wish of the Princess - which, honestly, it seems to me rather unlikely, considering his peculiar.. life experience and his consequent peculiar… how to say… way of being - or in some other way, I would bet my head that he will feel jealous."

T'Pol could not resist. "And he will have much more than very good reasons!"

Trip watched T'Pol with eyes simultaneously amused and inquiring. "Oh my gosh, T'Pol! Now I'm really curious!"

The gaze with which T'Pol returned that of Trip was a truly mischievous gaze. "Then read on, Adun."

Yes. A decidedly mischievous gaze.

"I can not say I can be glad of the thoughts you surely will have by reading. I do not like at all that you can have the thoughts of... a libertine, but I can not deny that in this case you may be justified. And then the necessity that you have full cognizance of the fable implies that you read it in its entirety."

Trip frowned, while T'Pol's eyes suddenly flashed.

"But do not think you can make a habit of such a benevolence on my part, my libertine Adun!"

And Trip laughed heartily.

Then, after so much talk, they both fell silent.

Trip saw that T'Pol's expression changed. She became serious and pensive.

"What there is, honey? What's wrong?"

T'Pol looked at Trip with grave eyes, but, in an instant, they became sweetly shining.

Her voice was soft. "Nothing, T'hai'la, absolutely nothing. On the contrary. Merely, I... I'm thinking about all you've made me understand. Of the Princess, of the Nameless One. And of me."

Trip did not reply. He said nothing. There was no need to say anything.

He simply smiled softly, while T'Pol went down to curl up again in his lap and in his arms, against his chest, letting almost absent-mindedly his hand go back to gently torture her breast, even in its immobility.

It was true. Everything her Adun had said was true.

He was not mistaken in anything.

He was totally right about the Princess' motivations. It was true that she was subconsciously looking for a way to backtrack, or better, to induce him, the Nameless One, to ask her, perhaps even to force her, to turn back.

But, among her motivations, unknown - T'Pol smiled to herself - to her mind, but known to her heart, there was one in particular.

One that added together in itself all of them.

The Princess wanted to be beautiful for him.

For the Sultan.

For the Nameless One.

She wanted to be liked by him.

And better if her beauty had been seen also by others, although such beauty was only for him. Better if he had experienced something like jealousy in front of the admiring gaze of others who weren't him.

He would understand what it meant to feel the pangs of jealousy. As it had happened to her. He would understand what it meant to love. As it had happened to her. He would understand what it meant to suffer for love. As it had happened to her. He would learn the hard way. As it had happened to her.

And also the Princess would learn. As it had happened to her.

Foolish, stubborn of a Princess! Foolish and stubborn at least as much as her, who, like the Princess, had peg away not to call by their real name all the love impulses that had passed into her, the impulses of her love for her Adun, for her Trip.

She, like the Princess for the Nameless One, wanted to be beautiful for him, for her T'hai'la. She wanted to be liked by him. She had always wanted, but at one time she had not wanted to admit it.

But, then, she had learned.

She had learned how nice it was and… and exciting… to make herself beautiful for him!

Be admired by him!

Enjoy the thrill of awakening his jealousy for her.

And also the Princess would learn.

T'Pol took a deep and contented sigh.

Frankly it no longer mattered to her a damn if the hand of her T'hai'la had forced her to cease to listen to him as he read, to do... something else. Indeed, at this point she would have almost preferred that he had given up to pick up the PADD from the sofa with the other hand and that, rather, had poked that hand… somewhere else.

And nevertheless… nevertheless it was so nice to stay so in his hug, in his lap, tight to him, listening to him read, as his hand gently tortured her body and her katra.

A wonderful torture.

Tormenting, gorgeous prologue... _preparation_ , as... as for the Princess... of her inevitable, ruinous… _stupendous_ fall.

Of her complete, unconditional surrender.

Yes. The time of her surrender would anyway come. And it would be a marvellous surrender.

But not yet. Before, she still wanted to be tortured so. Letting her torturer accentuate from time to time the torment with… deliciously more harrowing tortures and allowing herself a few moments of respite, some breathing, ever and anon, by talking with him, with her beloved tormentor, commenting with him that fable that he knew how to read and understand so well.

She wanted to try to unveil together with him the mystery that was hidden in that fable, that so much had disconcerted her and also the mystery that had been added, even more disconcerting, actually, the one of how it was possible that it had been the two of them, just the two of them, to write that fable.

She wanted to do it before surrendering to him.

Her surrender would be even more beautiful.

Would she be capable of making it?

Maybe yes. Maybe not.

But she wanted... wanted... - again T'Pol could not help but smile to herself - ... _stubbornly_ to try.

So, she spoke, in a low and dreamy voice.

"Resume reading, Adun. It's good to read along with you. It's nice to discover together with you all the little big things that without you I have not been able to grasp."

She could not see, but clearly perceived the smile that spread across his face.

"It would have happened the same thing if the parts were reversed. Only with you and together with you I am able to grasp the meaning of things, T'Pol. Because only together we are complete."

T'Pol preferred not to replicate. Probably, her voice would have sounded tremulous with weeping. A weeping of joy, of course. But... well, it was beginning to be a little too many the times when she felt urge to cry with joy. If she had managed to avoid at least one of those times... In short, it would have not been bad, here! Or... maybe not?

Trip's voice, low and quiet, came to her aid.

"Do I go ahead, honey?"

T'Pol nodded in Trip's arms.

* * *

The miracle was accomplished.

The two slave girls looked at one another.

Then they looked at the Princess.

Then they looked back at each other.

They smiled, proud and happy, the one at the other.

The Princess interrupted their exchange in a sweet voice, a little amused.

"Well? Satisfied of your work, my damsels?"

It was the human slave girl who answered. Lively was her nature, and exuberant. Cheeky, almost. She had shown it already. And once again she manifested it.

"Oh, Princess! I wish you were able to see you! I wish there was a mirror, here, to let you see how beautiful you are!"

The Princess laughed.

"I believe you, my damsel. I believe you, even if there's no mirror where I can see how I look."

Then suddenly she became serious.

Pensive, she looked at the girl.

Her voice was uncertain.

"No mirror, here, my damsel?"

The girl remained silent, her eyes, until an instant before bright and playful, suddenly plumbeous.

Her companion, the elf-maiden, answered in her place.

And even her eyes were leaden.

"There are... there are no mirrors here, my Lady. Our Lord and Master does not want them."

The Princess was silent, she too.

Their Lord and Master did not want mirrors.

He... he did not want to see... he did not want to see...

That face, that monstrous face, appeared vividly in the mind of the Princess.

That horrid face of human beast.

With that blue eye of him. So sardonic. So mocking. So gloomy.

So... charming.

So sad.

While he had gone away.

The voice of the human slave-girl shook her.

"My Lady, maybe... maybe the time has come for you to wear the dress that I have brought to you."

The Princess shook her head, as if to chase away her heavy thoughts.

She smiled.

"Yes, I really think the time has come." Her smile became wider. "I do not think it can be befitting a princess wandering around stark naked at the risk of being seen by prying eyes."

The two slaves laughed in unison. Their Princess was priceless! Beyond any comparison!

They repressed their laugh, a little shameful, then pivoted on their heels with grace and, standing motionless, turned their faces to the Princess as if to invite her to want to follow them.

She nodded and the two slaves turned their heads and, without further delay, headed toward the curtain that closed the exit of the tent recess where they had prepared the Princess.

The elven slave-girl lifted the curtain, so as to let the Princess come out.

She did and then both the slave-girls followed her.

Now they were back at the bedside.

The human slave took the gilded wooden small treasure chest containing the clothes she had left on the bed.

She handed the casket with a contented and respectful air to the Princess.

The Princess took it.

Cautiously, almost as if fearing something she didn't even known she should have feared, she lifted its lid and, curious and strangely timorous at the same time, extracted the contents, dropping to the floor the casket with all its lid.

She had trouble to understand what it was.

Clothes?

But… what sort of clothes?

It seemed... it seemed a kind of glittering, scattered, diffuse jewel, in the form of... in the form of what?

With a subtle, obscure tremor inside her, she made so that what she was holding in her hands could hang down from them, the way she had done with the dressing gown that the Nameless One had given her, to realize what kind of garment it was.

Her eyes narrowed.

She understood.

Clothes...

It was pretentious speaking of clothes, at least in the proper sense of the term. Indeed, to say it all, even the plural was improper.

What the Princess found herself having in her hands was… a skirt.

A skirt. Just so.

And… nothing else.

Gorgeous. That was sure. Indeed, surely the word did not render due credit.

The fabric was…

Incredible, the way it was made.

Uncountable, wafer-thin gold and silver wires, all separated from each other but each one next to other, hanging from a high belt. A belt entirely made with precious stones! And the belt was closed by a buckle that was... was an enormous crystalline diamond! A diamond! No doubt! Milled so as to be flat and divided exactly into two halves, so that each half constituted a half of the buckle. And the two halves were joined together by two hooks, one upper and the other lower, which seemed... which _were_ made the one of ruby and the other of emerald! And only the gods could know how such a work had been possible to the miraculous hand that had made them!

And nevertheless…

Nevertheless it was only a skirt.

Worthy of a goddess. For sure.

But it was just a skirt.

A precious skirt made of nothing!

And… and not even too long, in addition. Indeed... rather short. _Decidedly_ short. And… and without panties of sort!

Definitely an invaluable, marvelous, exclusive, unique skirt.

And... definitely of no use to hide.

The Princess looked at the two slave-girls, with a baffled and perplexed gaze.

"I really hope... I really hope that your work has given the results that you say. I mean ... I mean that... that I hope it may be really nice to be seen what... what this skirt will pretend to hide. And... and ..."

Her eyes darted down to the casket, lying open on the ground.

Empty.

Completely empty.

A murmur, on her mouth, her eyes unable to detach themselves from the casket.

"...no bra?"

* * *

"Oh oh!"

T'Pol lifted her head and looked straight at Trip. "Spare yourself for a little longer, if you can, my libertine Husband. You'll have the way to show your libertinism with more reason."

"Stop it with this _'libertine'_ , T'Pol! You know well that I am not at all... oh... ah... what did you say?"

"I said, my not at all libertine husband, who never thought about any other woman except me…"

"Oh damnit and damnit and damnit! But Is not enough for you what I told you about me and - only to speak clearly – about the so-called _my_ women during our shore leave?" **(())**

"… that you'll have the way to show your libertinism…"

"T'Pol! For God's sake!"

"…with more reason."

"T'Pol! Are you become deaf? I…. Ah... uh... ah yes?"

"It so happens you were right."

"It so happens?"

"Yes, anything can happen; this also."

"Oh many thanks. I appreciate very much such a concession on your part, my courteous wifey. And speaking of what I was right, I pray?"

"The Princess will come out of the tent."

"You have been so kind to confirm to me already the rightness of my assumptions."

"In full view. For everyone."

"This too you did already say, in consonance with my predictions. So what is the novelty?"

But suddenly Trip realized.

"With no... with no bra?"

T'Pol did not answer.

Trip whistled between his teeth and started to read again.

Quite attentively.

* * *

 ** _End of Chapter Twenty-seven_**

 ** _TBC_**

 **oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo**

 **oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo**

 _Mh, a doubt springs in my mind, my friends._

 _Might it be that T'Pol is right in saying that Trip, in a way, is a little 'libertine'?_

 _Well, let's see, my friends, let's see._

 _Of course, it must be admitted. For a boy rather spirited like he is, the premises there are all. Not bad, honestly, for one like him, the mental vision of the Princess wearing - and, apparently, not… how to say?... in private - that peculiar precious skirt._

 _Made of nothing._

 _Without panties beneath._

 _And without bra._

 **oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo**

 **oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo**

 **()** Please forgive me. You should read my story "Depths" in order to understand what Trip means. It's a little _'hot'_ , though, so you can't find it here. You can find it on (here: www: / triaxiansilk index . php ? page = viewstory & id = 50 or on my site. Here: www: / plomeeksoupandpecanpie . weebly depths . html

Obviously you need to transcribe the links without the spaces.

 **(())** Please forgive me one more time. In order to well understand what is going on, you should read another of my stories, "Shore Leave", this also available here on Fanfiction . net


	28. The Ears of the Elves - Chapter 28

**The Ears of the Elves**

 **By Asso**

 **Chapter Twenty-eight**

* * *

 _If you have enough strength of soul, it is time, my friends, to begin to find out a little the dark and gloomy world of the Nameless One._

 _Stay close to the Princess._

 _She needs it._

* * *

 **The Ears of the Elves**

 **Chapter Twenty-eight**

 **oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo**

 **oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo**

For a moment there was silence. Then the small human slave snapped, exuberantly.

"Your breasts, my Princess, certainly need no bras, to keep themselves up!"

The Princess' eyes widened, but she had no way to find something to respond. The elven slave intervened. Just her. And with the same exuberance of her companion.

"Not to put in display such a beauty would be a crime!"

The Princess remained literally speechless.

It took her a few moments before managing to find something to reply, while the two slaves looked at her with a proud and sassy face.

"Th... thanks." She stammered. Then she recovered. She smiled again. A very strained smile, though, this time. "Yours is certainly a very cute way to bring me to bear with a less heavy heart my new state of slave-girl." She tried to smile with a little more liveliness. "With everything this entails."

Her eyes ran for a fleeting quick instant to the casket lying on the ground, thrown open and sadly empty. "Or... or does not entail."

The smile disappeared from her face.

She looked at the two girls, uncertain and yet sadly certain at the same time. She asked, with a faint voice, failing to prevent herself from babbling, already knowing the answer.

"I wonder... I wonder... is it... is it possible, here? I mean... can it happen... can it happen that it's imposed upon a slave-girl to put herself... to put herself in… in… in display this way?"

There was an exchange of glances between the two girls, then they turned again to the Princess, without answering, watching her with an expression that had no longer anything of the ostentatious and enthusiastic exuberance they had flaunted before. Real, no doubt about it; true; sincere. But also rapturously sported to try to relieve in some way the Princess' dismay

And it was not at all difficult to interpret what there was now on their faces.

No. It was not at all hard to see that there was consternation.

Just enough to make it clear how things were... for her.

For the slave-girl she was now.

The Princess nodded woefully. "I see."

Then, rage mounted in her.

"Of course! And what else could I expect? What else, from a gang of brigands commanded by a brigand? And monstrous, to fill the measure! What can the brigands wish if not raiding gold and jewels and valuables and riches and... pretty girls? Like you two. And like me, me too, sure! And, for sure, _a lot_ of pretty girls! The brigands love to abduct beautiful girls! I have seen it happen countless times! A crowd, a myriad, a legion of beautiful maidens! Who may sweeten their life of brigands! Many, many, MANY! pretty girls! To use and… and to abuse! And to throw away after use!"

Such was the anger of the Princess that she could hardly speak.

"Oh what a nice thing! How… how wonderful! How much! A… a bevy of young girls, beautiful and comely, to use in the way you want! As… as by putting them on show! Half-naked! But… but no! No! Stark naked! Sure! SURE! Why not? A… a… a defenceless flock of beautiful maidens, purloined… purloined like sheep! LIKE SHEP! In the course of their raids of brigands! Among… among Elves and Humans! Why ever making distinctions? Women are women, nothing else and nothing more than that! Whether elven or human! Pleasant dolls made of flesh! Just… just this! Delectable dolls made of soft flesh whom you can oblige to delight you, however you like! HOWEVER YOU LIKE! Like... like… why not? It is one of the things that men love most among the thousands of things that a flesh doll can do for their pleasure!... like dancing! Nude as mom made them! Why not? WHY NOT?"

She was continuing to open and close her fists, giddy with rage. Overflowing with fury, the words came out in streams from her lips, as her eyes blazed, violent.

"Oh what a delight, to impose on a pack of delicious, beautiful... _tamed!..._ maidens, with the nice and welcomed addition of a Princess all in all anything but bad, eventfully fallen into your hands, to dance, all together; to show off; to exhibit themselves, provocative! And without veils! To perfom in such a gorgeous spectacle! For your pleasure!"

The Princess was a raging river.

"FOR _**THEIR**_ PLEASURE! For the pleasure of the gang of brigands who have enslaved us! Me! You two! And all the others! All the young maidens they have made slave! Like me! Like you two! Like ... like Atana! My handmaiden, my friend ever! Alive! Like me! Oh sure, I know! I was told of that! Our gracious Lord and Master, the big boss, has informed me! She's alive! And slave! Slave, obviously! What else? Slave! Like me!"

It was more than a swollen river! It was a whirling and unstoppable waterfall of rabid words.

"Brigands! Brigands! BRIGANDS! I can see! I can see them while they bask in the pleasurable vision of the naked bodies of their slave girls, as these ones move sensuously in the dance! I can see them enjoy such a tasty show! Slobbering! Guffawing coarsely by watching it, making a mockery of the shame of... of what they possess as... as you possess things! A... a miserable, wretched host of helpless, pretty maidens to violate! To rape! To...to… to…"

It was a sort of strangled cry.

"To humiliate!"

Which ended in a choked, low, doleful gasp. Two tiny, small, little desperate words. Hardly audible.

"Like me."

And then… silence.

The Princess was motionless, clenched fists, panting, staring with wild eyes at the two slave girls, who stood watching her in their turn, with wide eyes, not daring to breathe.

Then...

They heard it.

They heard her sob.

And they saw her slide slowly to the soil and stay there, so, slumped to the ground, head bowed, arms in her lap.

Beside the precious skirt of her shame.

Some moments passed, then the voice of the human slave rose up, unsure and hesitant.

"Things are not... are not like that, Princess."

At those words, the Princess looked up at the girl, striving to send back the tears that were about to invade plentifully her eyes.

In meeting those eyes, those visibly moist eyes of the Princess, the human slave girl recoiled with a snap, as if physically affected.

On seeing the girl's motion, the Princess felt pierced the soul. No! This no! She did not have to... did not have to disappoint her new friends and maids! So proud of her! She did not have to show herself like that! Distraught and... and weeping! She had to be for them what she was! What they wanted her to be!

The Princess Alel!

Their Princess!

She tried desperately to compose herself.

Chagrined, she sniffled. Undignified! Oh how much undignified this was! But for her it was impossible to be avoided. It was the only thing she could do to prevent herself from bursting openly into tears.

And attempting hopelessly to give herself a composure... she sniffled again! Then, still sniffling, she pulled herself up on her knees, trying with all her strength to assume an air a little more dignified than her nose was capable of doing, and finally she attempted to speak, incapable, however, of preventing her voice from being heard plainly tinged with weeping, nor, even less, from being... scandalously stuttering.

But, on the other hand, how couldn't it be so? She had fallen into the abyss! She had saved herself from the brink that had swallowed all her loved ones and her entire world... she had become the miserable Wandering Princess, looking for a Prince Saviour who did not exist...

She had been hiding in the forests, had wandered through cliffs and mountains, had endured privations of all sorts, had lived on herbs and roots... she, the Princess who had had everything! In search of a dream... of a prince, a somebody, a Lord of one of the hidden, scattered elven realms that, maybe, only maybe, still existed, concealed from time immemorial, unknown to all, even to her supreme royal family... the family she had had... A Lord of any kind, sufficiently powerful and ambitious as to be willing to align himself by her side, in exchange ... in exchange for her!

She had wandered and wandered and wandered, counting only on the affection, the self-denial, the devotion of the few warriors who had managed to escape the massacre and who had followed and protected her, without asking for anything except to stand with her, like... like Atana... and who... who had ended up slain, that way, all of them...

She had endured all this, stubbornly, obstinately, for years, in the absurd hope to regain a little of her world...

For…

 _For plummeting in the end into the chasm of slavery!_

And… and at the hands of the very personification of evil of the world! And human, what's more! A Human! Like the destroyers of her life!

All this had happened to her! All this had befallen upon her!

And, as if this were not enough, it had happened to her even...

Oh how would she have wanted to deny it! How would she have wanted to keep going on deceiving herself! And instead she couldn't anymore! That skirt! That damn skirt was there on purpose to prevent her from continuing to do so!

… _it had happened to her even that she had made a gift of herself to that fiend!_

 _To that damn! To that damn Human! To... to that monster! To that… to that… to that beast!_

 _It had happened to her she had rejoiced to be made his!_

 _That, even, she herself had asked him to make her his! Not to stop! In the tumult of passion!_

 _Passion!_

 _For that beast!_

 _ **For that fiend!**_

So then, how couldn't her voice resound veined with tears, how couldn't it be stammering, if, to throw even more confusion in her wounded and disoriented spirit, there were those words?

The words of the human slave girl!

But… but what had she wanted to mean?

Yet she had understood... the two girls had given her to understand that...

"But you... both of you... your faces…. your… your silence… made me realize... I mean... I'd understood that… that here, among these brigands… hu… humiliating a slave girl as it... as it is happening to me... forcing her to... to give show of herself this way..."

"It's possible! Of course, my Lady!" The human slave girl hastened to answer, with a clear note of embarrassment in her voice. "A slave is a slave. Everything can be ordered to her. And she must do whatever she is ordered to do. But ..."

"B… but?"

"I... I... I didn't refer to your... to your… well, here… to your _attire_ , my Lady, and to... to its… implications, in saying that things are not... here… are not as you believe them to be!"

"Ah… ah no?"

"Oh, Princess!" The slave became animated. Her face lit up with impassioned sympathy for her Princess. She gulped and, stammering more than ever, she tried to give voice to her tumultuous thoughts.

"Your… attire, my Lady… I… I mean… the… the way… the way… you…" The girl swallowed again, hard. "… you have to... to expose yourself…" Her face turned red. "It can... it can happen, my Lady, certainly. I mean… it can happen... it's... it's entirely possible that a slave can be ordered to show off in the way... in the way you must do! And... and obviously, she has to do it. This is… this is what I and my companion intended to mean. But... but... well... yours is… is a… a very peculiar attire! And, certainly, much as... much as insubstantial it may be, no other slave girl has ever worn such preciousness! With... with bra or no bra! I… I mean... you... you must think... you must think that… that... that you... that you're special!"

The Princess gulped hard in turn. "I'm... special!"

"Oh... oh you... you know it, my Lady!"

The Princess nodded bitterly. "Yeah. I know."

Then, with enormous effort, she strived to compose herself a little more than she had succeeded in doing until that moment.

She pulled herself to sit on the floor and, hugging her bent knees with her arms, looked at the girl, trying to smile. She succeeded. A wan smile, but she managed it. She attempted even to jest. "Does it mean that I must not be afraid to be forced to dance naked for the pleasure of these brigands or does it mean that I have to fear this more than the other slave girls?"

The reaction of the human slave, as well as of her elven companion, was at all unexpected.

Neither complacency for her desperate joke, nor condescending participation, nor, even less, pride, or at least contentment, for her ditch effort to compose herself. In a few words, for the fortitude that she attempted to show and that, this was undeniable, ultimately she was proving to possess.

The two slaves, both, looked at her fixedly, with a strange, intense expression in their eyes. It was as if in their gaze there were something which was trying to leak out, their mouths incapable of letting it come outside.

Finally, the human slave girl shook herself. She, one more time. One more time she spoke. Softly, as to soften the harshness of what she was going to say.

Because it was harsh, what she would say. The Princess sensed that her heart wasn't deceiving itself in feeling such a sensation.

"My Lady, now I understand why the eyes of my companion lit up and then have cloaked themselves in sadness, when she knew who was the elven princess that our Lord and Master had brought in his tent. You, my lady, really deserve the legendary fame that surrounds you. You know how to be stronger than the strongest of adversities. You manage even to joke right now, in the predicament where you are. You manage to instill confidence and courage when it seems that nothing good exists anymore. You manage even ..." A flash, fleeting yet very much vivid, of true amazement, passed in the girl's eyes. "... even to give me the courage to make it clear to you what ..." Another flash, as fleeting as the first; this, of manifest disquiet. "... what I meant to say."

The Princess' breathing became thin, very thin. No. Her heart wasn't mistaken.

"My Princess…" The slave paused a moment, with a grave air, as if wanting to bring out clearly what she was going to say. "… things are not in the way you think they are, I said, and, now you know it, I wasn't referring to the peculiarity of your... habiliment. I mean…" The embarrassment prevailed on her good intentions. She failed to control her talking. "….well… I mean… to the possibility that a slave girl, here, might be forced to dress like that, although... although... there is to believe... to believe that only you... "

The slave broke off. She lowered her eyes and then looked sideways at the Princess. Finally she shrugged, raised her gaze and burst out.

"Oh come on! You know what I mean!"

The Princess smiled and, as much as her heart was heavy, this time her smile was a real smile.

It was nice, it was comforting, to know she had as a damsel, and especially as a friend, such a frank and sweet girl. And so pleasurably jaunty and flippant.

She really deserved a nice smile. And she deserved to be treated with much, much sweetness. And respect. "And what were you referring to, then, o my valuable handmaiden and friend?"

If, before, the girl had become red, now she became purple.

"I… I… I…"

Then she cleared her throat. Then she coughed. Then she cleared her throat again. Then she sighed again, as on her lips a broad smile flourished, that dreamier couldn't be thought.

Then it came back to her mind what she had to say.

And, at that, her face grew pale. And serious as never.

And the smile disappeared also from the face of the Princess.

And, compunctious and disquietingly fearful, heedless of her nudity, Princess Alel braced herself to listen.

* * *

"I do not like it! I do not like it at all!"

T'Pol didn't intervene. She didn't even move. She didn't dare.

Trip grunted.

And went on.

* * *

"My Princess…" Another sigh lifted the breasts of the human maiden, while the blue of the eyes of her elven companion grew darker. "There's not a bevy of slave girls, here. And... there are no brigands."

The Princess watched the girl without understanding, the vacuity of her gaze clear sign of her bemusement.

The maiden sighed. Shrinkingly, she moved. With hesitant steps, she approached the Princess and knelt beside her.

She waved a hand toward the Princess. Then she withdrew it. Then, tentatively, almost ashamed, she lifted her hand again, and finally, with a snap, took the hand of the Princess in hers.

Gently.

With awe.

She looked at her bashfully in the eyes.

"My Lady ..." Her voice was tremulous and soft. "… there are obviously slave girls, here. I and my elven companion are the proof. And... and you too, although you have been caught for... for reasons other than ours. But the capture of a maiden is a very rare thing and… and it happens for… for specific reasons. And never…"

The girl paused, as if searching for words.

She resumed, after a further sigh.

"N… never the slave girls, here, are… are used for shows like the one you have imagined. For all other things..." Another pause. A pause that reverberated of discomfort. "… for all other things..." She lowered her eyes in shame, as her face blushed again. "...for all other things ..." She raised her eyes. Those dark and shining eyes. And manifestly bright, now, with something wet. "...obviously, yes. They... they are."

Then those eyes blazed. They seemed almost to glow with what looked like proud boldeness. "But never publicly! There are... there are no mass rapes, here! Nor any other type of public violence, physical or moral, against the slave girls!"

* * *

T'Pol heard clearly, without daring to say anything, the words that Trip slurred between his lips, bitterly, before continuing reading.

"Well, thank goodness. At least that."

* * *

"It's not in this kind of things, nor in kidnappings of girls or in robberies of riches, nor in acts of brigandage of any sort that our Lord and Master and his men engage. Other... other are the things they pursue. And in accomplishing such… such things, no one is kidnapped. Never. Neither male nor female."

The maiden's voice faltered.

"Our Lord and Master... doesn't take prisoners."

The girl stopped speaking, while the other slave, standing up a few steps away, averted her eyes, as if reluctant to listen to her companion.

The Princess, still sitting on the floor and with her hand held delicately by that of the human girl, caught the gesture of the elven slave, but said nothing. Instead she turned her attention to the human slave.

The girl was about to speak again, to provide explanations to her statements.

Passing over, with no little effort, the last assertion of the human maiden, that assertion that made your skin crawl, the Princess narrowed unconsciously her eyes, as he does who is striving to focus so as not to let himself escape anything. She felt that what the human girl was going to reveal to her was hugely important. And certainly just as disquieting, when not more, if the gesture of the elven female stood to mean something.

The girl resumed talking. Her voice was more than ever feeble, but, this time, not shaky or hesitant.

"He and the men under his command are not brigands, Princess. They are marauders, errant marauders, without homeland nor flag, that's true. Or, rather, that's true... in a sense."

There was another pause, while the eyes of the girl were getting... you could say that they were getting without light.

"In a sense, my Princess. In a sense. Because they, in effect, are not that. This they can seem and this is told of them. This is what is narrated they are. Me too…" The girl's voice faltered again. "…me too… as well as my companion… we believed it was so, before… before we… before we… before we were forced…"

The maiden had to stop again. She gulped, visibly, searching for the strength to continue, to do it in spite of what, by doing so, she was compelled to relive.

She found the force, finally.

"… before we were forced to know in person, who... _what_ … they really are."

The Princess was listening, motionless and intent, with her hand now clenched strongly by the girl's hand, her eyes blocked on the visage, white as a sheet, now, of the maiden, although it didn't escape her the expression of her elven companion, the way her eyes were now closed, locked, as if not wanting to see.

The memories that passed through her mind.

The voice of her companion made itself heard again. It seemed the voice of a ghost.

"It would… it would be fairer to call them, my Lady… errant... errant... _predators_. But… but not... not predators of treasures. And not even… not even of people. They are…"

A break. Again. Again the girl swallowed. Her eyes seemed to lose even the little of vibrancy they had yet.

"…predators of lives."

* * *

"Trip."

T'Pol did not even need to lift the head. There was no need to watch her Adun to realize the shadow that had obscured his face, in the same way that it had obscured his heart.

"Adun!"

T'Pol continued to keep her head buried in Trip's neck, with closed eyes, clinging to him more than ever.

Only her voice rose.

"Ashayam, remember." It was a sweet and strong whisper. "You are not the Nameless One."

"He is me, though, T'Pol."

If you were to describe his voice at that moment, you should say that it was like that of the human slave girl. The voice of a ghost.

T'Pol opened her eyes. She pressed herself to Trip even more. "T'hai'la, please ..."

"How will it be ever possible, T'Pol?"

This time T'Pol looked up. She watched into the face of her Trip. "What, Adun?"

"How will it be ever possible for the Princess to save his soul? No! How will it be ever possible for her to _give him again_ a soul? To the Nameless One? To the boss, the leader, the lord of a horde of predators of lives? To the evil's embodiment?" There was almost anguish in his voice. "How will it be ever possible that her love may erase all the evil that he did? How will it be ever possible that he... that he may redeem himself?"

T'Pol kept quiet for a moment, scrutinizing anxiously the anguish in the eyes of Trip.

Then... she smiled. Just like that.

Without any hesitation she uttered the forbidden word, that word so beautiful and radiant.

"Her _love_ will succeed, Trip."

Trip stood watching her, wordless. Stood watching her unmatched smile, taking heat from it. Listening to her wonderful voice.

"She will give back him a soul, Adun. And he... he will know how to redeem himself."

But then, the smile suddenly vanished.

T'Pol lowered her eyes.

"Although... although he will have to pay a... a terribly high price. And... and the Princess..." Her voce trembled, patently. "…perhaps even more."

T'Pol raised her eyes again, looked again at her Adun, who was watching her with narrowed eyes, wondering what she meant and not daring to ask, but sensing perfectly the deep sadness she was feeling at that moment.

And nevertheless, at seeing her gaze, he realized that those eyes of her, those eyes so beautiful, were sad, yes, as he expected them to be, and yet, somehow there was in them a kind of inscrutable, mysterious serenity, even a kind of stupefied wonder. There was no recess of her heart that he wasn't now able to perceive; perhaps not to understand, but to sense, yes. Always.

And once again a smile lingered on her lips, sad it too, and yet contemporaneously, in some way, unfathomably serene, just as her gaze.

And her voice, in some unknowable way, resounded of that sense of amazement that he had seen flicker in her eyes.

"But the price he will have to pay will make be born a world, Trip. Will make be born m..."

T'Pol stopped dead. Her mouth snapped shut before she could finish the word out; before other letters could follow to the first, to that _'m'_.

She stood still and motionless watching Trip with an almost ferocious intensity.

Trip understood.

He understood everything.

It was what had thrown T'Pol in dismay when she had read on her own the fable.

That something that she persisted in not wanting to reveal to him, wanting him to arrive to realize what it was, without her telling him anything about, but that constantly recurred to her mind, renewing her bewilderment.

That something - Trip suddenly realized - that T'Pol wanted him to make less disconcerting, with the brisk and irreverent manner of doing that he was conscious he had, that manner that she constantly reproached him that he had and that she was so happy that he had.

He was silent for a moment, his puzzled and intent look fixed on her.

Then his gaze softened and he spoke, in a low and quiet voice.

"Let's go forward, T'Pol."

His hand stroked her breast, but, for some reason, this time T'Pol did not react as one would have expected that it were to happen.

There wasn't arousal, there wasn't that heat, the heat that that hand elicited in her. Always and now more than ever.

There was another heat.

A mild heat.

A soft fire.

A gentle flame.

The one that her breast, her body, her katra felt he wanted to instill in her just with the caress of his hand.

Just how she had wanted to do with him with the heat of her smile.

And she felt this heat warm up her soul.

She lowered back her head on his neck. Closed her eyes again.

"Yes, my Adun."

* * *

The Princess shuddered inwardly.

All true.

It was all true.

The legends, the gloomy legends about the Nameless One, about _her_ master, were not legends. Were reality.

As real as it was him!

Oh sure, she, by now, knew. She could not but know. If he was real, it could not but be real what was narrated about him! But hearing it told so, in that way! Clearly! Plainly!

And nevertheless… nevertheless… why ever shouldn't he and his men have been brigands? Why had the human maiden made that distinction? Not brigands, but… predators of lives.

And weren't, perhaps, the brigands, predators of lives? The brigands were brigands. What difference could ever exist between brigands who preyed wealth and females and lives, and brigands who preyed only lives? Was it enough that her master and the gang of Humans under his command didn't yearn for wealth or for the kidnapping of living beings, to make them something different than being brigands? And indeed brigands of the worst kind?

And... of course… it was comforting, in a way, to know that... that mass violence was not a… a sport practiced by that horde of brigands… non-brigands. But... and the two slaves? Where they came from? Why were they there, enslaved, if enslaving the girls as well as people in general was not an… activity in which her master and his acolytes engaged? What did it mean that the abduction of young girls was done for… specific reasons?

And...

… _what were the other things to which the gang of predators of lives under the command of her master devoted itself?_

The Princess' heart trembled. And her body, too. The answers to the questions that her mind arose were scary. More than scary. She knew. She felt it acutely. Yet, she felt the need to know more. The need to know... everything.

So, she spoke. She asked. Feebly. But resolutely.

"Tell me who are those in whose hands we are. Tell me what they are. Tell me ..." She felt a lump in her throat, a burden on her heart, which made her voice quavering and fainter than it already was. "... tell me, without hiding anything, who is he who commands them. Who is the... the Lord and Master of our lives."

"You tremble, my Princess. You're feeling cold."

It was the other slave, the elven one. She was more reserved, shyer than her human companion. She was perfectly aware of that. She did not hide it from herself. It was hard for her to talk to her Princess with the… the effrontery of her slavery fellow! And then, she felt the wonder of being a damsel and... and a friend of the Princess Alel, of her Princess, more than her slave mate. Her companion felt the wonder of being called friend and damsel by the legitimate Lady of all Elves. She. A human female. And a human female quite... spirited. Not few times she had had to smooth the dangerous exuberance of her human companion.

But for her... for her… for the elven female she was... for her… the Princess… the Princess was…

For her companion Princess Alel was almost a myth, a legend. The ethereal, supreme Princess of the enchanted world of the Elves. Enchanted and envied... and... and even hated by Humans. But still enchanted. This was the Princess Alel, for her human companion. Something, a mythical figure, who existed, of course. Alive and real, of course. But over there, in that enchanted world. It did not matter if her human slavery companion knew, just like her, that Princess Alel had been forced to abandon that enchanted world, which had collapsed just under the shoulder shoves of her breed brothers; it mattered little whether the Princess had been forced to flee, to wander, to become the Wandering Princess. It mattered little. Indeed, it did not matter at all. Indeed, it added enchantment to enchantment; magic to magic.

All this was the Princess Alel for her human companion.

She knew it. She had got it right every time they had spoken to each other, and, somehow, the Princess had peeped in their speeches.

But for her, Princess Alel was legend and reality at the same time. A mythical, distant, unattainable reality. But solid, true reality. A reality which existed, there, somewhere, even if forced to wander, hidden and secret.

A reality that gave hope to her.

And now Princess Alel was made flesh and bones.

She had heard her name and of her tribulations and her indomitable refusal to surrender to fate that had engulfed the kingdom of the Elves just in the stories told around the nightly campfires, in her village, before becoming... what she was now. And now the Princess Alel, her Princess, the legitimate heir of the supreme throne of all the elven peoples, was there, in front of her. And, enslaved or not that she was, she was the Princess Alel. The _untamable_ Princess Alel! Able to joke, to smile, to laugh even now! Much as… much as miserable – miserable! Oh great gods! - her present condition could be!

Oh yes! Her companion was really right! Her Princess was indeed able to instill confidence and courage even when it seemed that nothing good existed anymore!

Her Princess was…

No. That wasn't right. She was _their_ Princess, now! Hers and of her human slavery mate! She, their Princess, had granted them, both of them, the honour of being... of being... her damsels and... and friends!

Was not all this, perhaps, more, more than enough to make her, the elven female she was, even more shy and bashful and reserved than she already was?

But she had seen their Princess tremble.

Oh it was not the cold! No. It was not the cold. She was naked, their Princess. But she did not tremble because of the cold.

She was strong, their Princess. But she was shaking. And not because of the cold.

She had to - she absolutely had to! - make her, their Princess, feel their togetherness. Just as her human companion was doing, by standing kneeling beside her, holding her hand.

Their Princess had to - absolutely had to! - feel how both were close to her!

And so she had spoken. With a soft, calm voice.

She had told the Princess that she had noticed her tremor. But she had been well careful not to say bluntly that she knew very well why their Princess trembled.

It was the cold... the cold that the Princess felt in her nakedness. What else, if not?

Now she had to do the rest. She had to protect their Princess from the cold she felt.

She had to cover her nakedness.

 _And… not only that._

She knew how to do.

With a quiet and composed gait, she approached their Princess and her companion, stopping just a moment to collect from the ground the huge dressing gown that lay down there.

With that in hand, she went behind the Princess sitting on the floor, she too knelt and covered her with the robe, setting down it carefully on her shoulders and wrapping it around her.

Then, gently, she put both hands on the now covered shoulders of the Princess, brought her mouth near to her ear and whispered softly into it.

"Here, my Lady. This way, you will no longer feel cold."

And then she remained so, kneeling behind their Princess, with her hands on her shoulders, to make her understand that she was there, with all the devotion she felt for her, to try, as far as she could, to protect her from the cold.

And from anything else which could have the impudence to make tremble their Princess.

The Princess stopped shaking and remained so, sitting on the earthen floor, with, on her body, wrapped around her, that robe that she had said to herself that never again she would have worn, with her hand clasped in the hand of the human slave-girl, with the soft and warm touch of the hands of the elven slave-girl on her shoulders.

She stood so.

Enclosed in the warmth of her damsels and friends.

* * *

"Adun, what is there?"

T'Pol felt it even before seeing it.

She looked up and saw what her heart had felt.

The eyes of her Adun shone. With tears.

"Adun!"

"Oh, T'Pol!"

"Adun, what..."

"What a wonderful thing women are!"

Who knows why, this time, T'Pol didn't lose her temper.

 _'Women'_ had said Trip, and not _'a woman'_ , which, in T'Pol-thought, meant _'her'_ , _'her-T'Pol'._ And no other woman.

The plural... she wasn't at all okay with that.

One woman. One only. She.

And nevertheless, she didn't feel any pang of jealousy. And not because Vulcans don't feel jealousy.

She stroked with her lips the skin of her T'hai'la.

Then she closed her eyes yet again and murmured... "Go ahead, my Adun."

And Trip, with a deep sigh, performed.

* * *

"May I now answer your questions, my Lady?"

Not a few moments had passed and the human maiden felt that now she could speak again.

The slave girl had perceived the need of the Princess to know, beyond her direct questions, and, even if reluctantly, she wanted to satisfy that need. Reluctantly, because the slave knew that, in doing so, she would have added pain to pain in the heart of her Princess; despair to despair for the full cognizance of the fate befallen upon her, for the full consciousness of what her master... was.

And, nevertheless, that need was there.

And it was a need of her Princess.

And... and besides, she had begun and now she had to end!

And... and it was much better that it were her to make her Princess fully aware, rather than being the Princess forced to figure out everything in full on her own skin.

As it had happened to her and to her elven slavery fellow.

The Princess had to know, beyond the frightening stories that were narrated about him, who really was... the Nameless One.

And what were the men he commanded.

Far from being a mere gang of brigands.

As well as he was very far from being the mere leader of band of marauders.

Because he was... he was...

His men were…

The girl stopped the tumultuous whirling of her thoughts, waiting for a sign from the Princess.

The Princess did not answer. She sat more comfortably on the ground, beckoning to her two damsels to do the same. And so they did.

Now they were sitting next to each other and could look at each other in the face.

The Princess wrapped herself in the robe. The robe that she would never again wanted to wear. But it had been her damsel and friend to wrap her in that robe. To protect her... from the cold.

She enveloped herself strictly in the robe.

And, finally, she nodded.

So then, in a low and grave voice, after a look at her companion, who nodded her assent, the human slave girl spoke.

"My Lady, the brigands are jumbles of bandits, joined together only to carry on their robberies, barely able to maintain for some time, for the necessary time, just the discipline enough and useful to perform their forays, their aggressions. Their crimes."

Furrows appeared on the forehead of the slave girl, as her hand was running back to grab the one of the Princess.

"The men of our Lord and Master are not that. They are ..." Another glance at her companion, who took, she too, the hand of the Princess, the other, nodding her assent again. "... an army."

The Princess squeezed the hands that held hers. "An... army!"

"Yes, my Princess." It was the other slave, the elven one. "An army. Not numerous. But they are." Then her voice dropped to a sigh. "They are the..."

The elven slave did not finish. She looked at her companion and stood silent.

It was this one, who finished for her. The human slave knew well what the other wanted to say without having the courage to do it.

Both of them had heard this be said of the one who was now their Lord and Master and of the men who followed him. They had heard it during the happy and carefree years of their childhood and of their girlhood, before the bud of their adolescence had blossomed in the flower of their youth. They had heard it be whispered in a scared voice by wayfarers and merchants, by bandits and charlatans, by knights and warriors, by jugglers and mountebanks, without really understanding what it meant. Before they, flourished in all their beauty, and just because of their beauty, were to come to find out by themselves what was behind the frightening depiction that many times they had heard do of the Nameless One and of his men.

Oh sure! She - they both, she and her elven mate - knew it was not true, that it was just an _emotional_ depiction, expressing all the fear, all the terror that their Master and his army of predators of lives aroused.

Their Lord and Master was real, terribly real!

And real, terribly real, was the cohort of men he commanded.

But what would they have thought, those, the warriors, who'd seen the sky darken suddenly, blurred by a vault of arrows?

What would they have thought, facing the spears that pierced them, impaled them, mowed them down, without being able to understand where the spears came from? Who hurled them, who wielded them, who sank them in their flesh?

What would they have thought, in being abruptly and unexpectedly attacked by men who silently brandished swords and silently delivered deadly downward blows?

What would they have thought, on seeing swoop upon them the hell?

And… what thoughts would be surfaced in the stunned minds of the dying, when, in the silence of death, their eyes, about to lose any light, had seen rise up in front of them a figure; dark and huge and mighty? When they had seen that figure lift the hand to take off the black, shabby, wide-brimmed slouch hat that concealed the face, to make it be seen? To show it to them? To make sure they could bring that face with them forever? On the other side? Wherever they could be doomed to go?

What sort of thought - horrified, confused, ragged - would explode in their slaughtered heads, when their glassy eyes had seen that face? That horrid, beastly face?

Wouldn't they perhaps have thought, exhaling their last agonizing breath, of being in front of the dark lord of the...

The voice of the human girl was so low that it couldn't almost be heard. But the Princess grabbed perfectly the words.

"…the Army of Darkness."

* * *

"Oh my God!"

"Trip!"

* * *

 _ **End of Chapter Twenty-eight**_

 _ **TBC**_

 **oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo**

 **oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo**

 _Stay close to the Princess, my friends, even more than her two damsels and friends._

 _Falling in love the Nameless One ... it is atrocious!_


	29. The Ears of the Elves - Chapter 29

**The Ears of the Elves**

 **By Asso**

 **Chapter** **Twenty-nine**

* * *

 _I think that there are times when you must stop._

 _Times of not postponable needs._

* * *

 **The Ears of the Elves**

 **Chapter Twenty-nine**

 **oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo**

 **oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo**

"Oh my God! Oh My God, T'Pol! "

T'Pol had already jumped up.

"Trip, Adun! Be calm! You're not him! You're not him, I told you! "

Trip threw down the PADD to the ground, watching from below, from his sitting position on the couch, with angry eyes, T'Pol, standing in front of him. "But he is me! He is me damn it! Me too I've already said to you, this! "

"And I told you..."

"It almost was better the King! At least he was the source of all evil! The dark side of the beginning of everything! He was not a Human! But this... this bastard is a Human, a Human! Like me! He... oh for the devil! He is me! In him flows the blood that will become _my_ blood! The blood of the Lord... of the Army of Darkness! " **(*)**

T'Pol bent down and grabbed Trip by the shoulders. Can one say that Vulcans may show a ferociously wild gaze? Sure, to see T'Pol's look as she literally screamed in Trip's face, one might be led to believe it.

"Stop it! Stop it, stop it, stop it!"

"The Army of Darkness! THE ARMY OF DARKNESS! "

"Trip! Stop it! It's not true. Have you or have you not read the words of the human slave girl?"

"I…"

"Have you read them? Say yes or not!"

"T'Pol! Damn! Certainly that I've read them! And with that?"

"So then you should have understood that the army of the Nameless One is not the Army of Darkness! It's... it's... it's a metaphor, Trip! A hyperbole! To mean... "

"The vileness of his actions and of his army, T'Pol! So? Does this change anything?"

"But…"

"Oh it is gorgeous to hear you use so sophisticated words to console me for being the reincarnation of such a monster! But things do not change, my sweetie!"

"Trip! Adun! I beg you…"

"A metaphor! A... hyperbole! Oh great! Really! Very nice!"

"Trip..."

"But it's a metaphor that speaks volumes, T'Pol! A truly significant hyperbole! "

"Trip, please!"

T'Pol was practically hopeless. How could she do? What to do to calm her Adun? Especially... especially knowing that he... he was right? How could she console him for knowing _what_ had been someone... someone who had been him?

"The... the Lord of the army of darkness! The Army of Darkness, T'Pol! But do you realize? Oh sure you realize! You have been around about Human's tales! You know a thing or two about their pleasurable fables! The Army of Darkness! Metaphor or not metaphor! Hyperbole or not hyperbole! The Army of Darkness!"

T'Pol was about to cry. And this is neither a metaphor nor a hyperbole.

"Trip! My life…"

And suddenly Trip calmed down.

"Your... your life?"

It was a breath, his voice. A faint murmur of astonished, incredulous bewilderment.

T'Pol widened her eyes. She had made it! Not even she did know how, but she had made it! Without thinking twice - the iron must be struck while it is hot, her Adun always said to her! – she jumped down to sit astride his lap and threw her arms around him. She spoke with her lips stuck to the skin of his neck. "Why? Do you perhaps doubt this, Adun. You _are_ my life!"

"I… am…?"

T'Pol raised her face. Her eyes were moist. Trip noticed it perfectly.

"You are my life, my Ashayam. Without you, I have no life. And well beyond the Bond. "

"Huh?"

"Without you I'd die, Trip. With no need of any intervention from the Bond!"

And, at this point... but tell me, would it ever have been possible for Trip to be still in a rage? It was even difficult to him to stammer something out in response!

"D… d… darlin'! But… but… but what have I ever done so beautiful to deserve you? "

T'Pol looked at Trip straight in the eyes.

"You did not do anything else but be Trip."

"Eh?"

"The best of men!"

"Wh… wh… what? But… but if you always tell me that I am... "

"Stubborn, reckless, unpredictable, curt, obstinate, irritable, intractable, irresponsible, illogical, and so on and so on and so on."

"Precisely!"

"And tyrant!"

"Ty... tyrant?"

"Of a heart! And I do not think there is any need to specify the heart of whom you're the tyrannical despot of! And this is neither a metaphor nor a hyperbole! "

"Oh... for... for God's sake! T'Pol! Do you realize how you are talking?"

"With all the logic that is my own. Here's how I'm talking! "

"Eh? But if you're erupting feelings and words like a volcano of passion!"

"And is it not that what you tell me always I am? A volcano of passion? That only you know? And don't you say always you like me to be so?"

"Y... yes, but…"

"But if I am a volcano, I am a Vulcan, too. A volcano about passion and a Vulcan about logic. So in my words there is the whole logic of my species! But passionate. So as to be also my own logic!"

"T'Pol! But what…"

"What I want to say?"

"Yes, damn vulcan volcano of a volcanic vulcan female! What the hell do you mean?"

With the unpredictability and rapidity of a spurt of lava and with the same violence, T'Pol hurled her mouth on that of Trip and kissed him with all her logical passion.

Not a few moments passed, before she couldn't help but detach her lips from his. And then, in greedy search of air, "This..." she panted laboriously "...I mean!"

Trip, gasping him too, and not a little, didn't make the slightest effort to find enough air to allow him to speak. Merely, he looked at T'Pol with eyes full of questions, as he waited for his breathing to become a little more regular.

T'Pol raised her eyebrow at his quizzical gaze, with an expression that, if it had been an expression of Trip, it would have been possible to define it in no other way than maliciously cunning. But, after all, now she had become accustomed to no longer remaining surprised about herself. Damn of a beloved Adun!

She waited a moment, to have enough breath.

"Adun, do you think perhaps that my heart, the heart of..." T'Pol's eyes flashed merry. Absolutely merry! "...the headstrong, haughty, miss know it all, pain in the arse..."

"T'Pol! Sweetheart! But how the heck do you speak?"

"...vulcan female that you say I am, could have been of a man who was not such as to deserve her?"

"Ah, here..."

"A female so full of herself as you say I am, would never have agreed to let her heart be tyrannized by a man who wasn't keeping up with her. That is…" Her eyes twinkled "…by the best of men!"

And that said, with the same vehemence than before, T'Pol did it again. She kissed Trip. Not a long kiss, this time, indeed rather short. Lungs had not yet recovered completely. But, as regards to ardour... always to greater things!

However, as much as ardent the kiss was, its brevity did not satisfy her at all. Better to remedy. And even promptly! And besides, she still had a little something to say.

So then, lifting her head and looking a Trip with a look that oozed passion, "By you!" she whispered. And she launched her lips on his once again.

And this time, air or no air, the kiss was very very long and... saying it was ardent does not do justice!

Some seconds passed, then, fortunately for Trip, the air hunger had again the upper hand. Also a volcano of a vulcan female has her limits!

T'Pol lifted her lips from those of Trip, raised her face and, gasping conspicuously, watched him straight in face with shining and smiling eyes, still astride him, her hands resting on his shoulders.

For some moments, Trip, purple in the face and with the breath rather hissing, stood in total silence, trying to bounce back, his eyes fixed in a dazed expression, unable to decide whether to be more amazed than happy or vice versa.

Virtually without him realizing it, his hand began to rub his lips, as if trying to truly realize with that unconscious touch the passionate triple contact that had just occurred between those lips and the lips of T'Pol and… all it implied. A very different gesture, in its motivations, from the one he had deliberately done a time, the time when T'Pol had finally made up her mind to surrender to him completely, with that kiss in the hallway, as ardent - well, almost! - as those of now.

And, in doing so, as if the gesture of his hand, its passing upon his lips, still warm of her passionate kisses, had triggered an alert inside his head, Trip realized...

Oh God!

Ardent!

His eyes widened.

PASSIONATE!

" **T'Pol!** "

And now? What was going on? Alarmed, T'Pol asked anxiously "What is there? What is there now, T'hai'la?"

"Do not dare kiss me this way!"

"What?"

"I mean... I mean now! Just now!"

T'Pol understood. The most mischievous of smiles peeped out on her lips. But, on the other hand, how could she have done to avoid it? With the terrified expression that made a delicious show of itself, now, on the face of her frightened Adun?

"Ah, my Lord, I understand. You are afraid that, given my current condition, it is better not to indulge on my part in effusions of such a kind."

"Oh... well... actually..."

T'Pol's smile became, if anything, even more mischievous. "You will have to resign yourself, I'm afraid, my Lord. I do not think I can hold out much longer. You know... it's stronger than me." And, at that point, suddenly, T'Pol's smile disappeared. Her face turned pale, anything of the green colour of her blood no longer on her skin. "You... you're stronger than me!"

Any type of reply failed Trip.

T'Pol looked at him with haggard eyes. She pressed herself to him. She clung to him as a vampiric plant which draws life from the mighty tree trunk that holds it up.

"I want you, my Lord! I want you! I do not want to wait any longer! I want you, I want you, I want you!"

She jumped up. Naked, in front of him, trembling, her body shiny of sudden sweat, she grabbed his hand. Feverishly, she put it to lie, flat, upon the most intimate of her intimacies, the one that only he knew.

"Take me!" Her voice was a hoarse and choked whisper. "Make me yours one more time! I... I can not resist any longer!"

"T '... T'Pol... but... but wouldn't we have had to talk to Phlox?"

"I WANT YOU!"

"T'Pol! And... and the fairy tale? Didn't you want to finish reading it... didn't you want to find out our answers before... before..."

"The fable has waited for thousands of years! It can wait a little longer yet!"

"But..."

T'Pol moved Trip's hand. She rubbed it against herself. Against the prohibited flower of her womanhood. Prohibited to all except him. She grabbed the fingers of that hand. She immersed them in the wet and open wide corolla of that magnificent flower.

"Take me! Take me, Adun!" It was a hoarse sigh and confused. "I... I need to be taken by you!"

And Trip understood. T'Pol's Pon Farr claimed its rights. And he could not ignore them.

T'Pol had said it to him. He had towards her the greatest of responsibilities. And so? She had told him that, for her, he was the best of men. Could he perhaps disappoint her?

It had begun. The biggest of the trials to which he might be called.

And that was to say, to love her in every sense, in every way. Even, and especially, in the way her essence of vulcan female demanded.

She relied entirely on him. She entrusted herself on him... completely.

He could not - DIDN'T HAVE TO! - do nothing else but make her what she wanted to be. His gorgeous, marvellous Aduna!

A determined expression appeared on his face.

He freed his hand from hers and pulled out his fingers from the corolla of her inmost flower.

Ignoring her disappointed sigh of discontent, he stood up, his eyes fixed on her sweaty face.

He grabbed her by her waist.

He raised her.

He lifted her above his head.

She understood. Trembling, she waited, her face quivering, her eyes wide open and feverish.

He made her descend slowly, until her visage was at the highness of his.

His lips rested upon hers.

Her mouth grabbed his.

Her arms clutched him.

Her raised legs encircled his hips like a chain.

He turned, holding her tightly to him, with their mouths as only one mouth.

Their bed was there.

He lunged forward on the bed, with her under him, clinging to him, one single thing with him.

The fable would wait.

* * *

 ** _End of Chapter Twenty-nine_**

 ** _TBC_**

 **oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo**

 **oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo**

 _Not postponable needs._

 _Do not you agree with me, my friends?_

 _But also the Princess has her needs._

 _And also the Nameless One._

 _Are they too not postponable?_

 _I think so._

 _I must put them into the light._

 **oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo**

 **oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo**

 **(*) Do you remember my "In the hall of the mountain King", my friends? I hope so. It is still a work in progress, but the present story is based on it.**


	30. The Ears of the Elves - Chapter 30

**The Ears of the Elves**

 **By Asso**

 **Chapter Thirty**

* * *

 _I realize that on the part of my few readers there may be a strong desire to know how the story of the Nameless One and the Princess will go on, however, while to my regret, I must say that there will be to wait a moment yet._

 _You see, the Princess and the Nameless One are (it seems clear, doesn't it?) the reflection of Trip and T'Pol, exactly as Trip and T'Pol are the reflection of the Nameless One and the Princess._

 _Consequently, if you want to fully understand the story of these two, you must also follow the story of Trip and T'Pol, because..._

 _Eh, those dear friends of mine who will have the will and the perseverance to continue reading this story will know the why._

 _Anyway, the juice of my long introductory chat to the present chapter is..._

 _Please be patient, my friends._

 _In this (short) chapter, the scene is entirely of Trip and T'Pol._

* * *

 **The Ears of the Elves**

 **Chapter Thirty**

 **oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo**

 **oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo**

* * *

"Wow! I have to admit that this Pon Farr is not bad! Rather... demanding, to be sincere, but definitely not at all bad!"

T'Pol stretched herself languidly in Trip's arms.

They were on the floor.

The bed had not been enough.

But his body was for her the most comfortable of mattresses.

"This is just a prodrome. A foretaste, Ashayam."

Trip swallowed. His hand broke off halfway the caress it was doing to T'Pol's hair, rather clammy with sweat, in truth, just like the rest of her body, to be honest.

And he was not far behind.

How come? Because of the heat? Well, in a way, yes, certainly. A slightly particular heat, though, and, not without a slight inner shudder, frankly, at hearing T'Pol's words, it occurred to him to think that there could be for him some additional and rather worrisome reasons able to make him sweat.

Actually he remembered well what his… _algid_ … vulcan better half had told him about the... peculiar behaviour she would put on when her Pon Farr would have been... fully operating, but... but well, he had savoured the foretaste and... and... damn! If that was a foretaste, how would it have been, the real meal? One thing is to imagine, another thing is to experience!

Like an idiot, he repeated as a parrot "A foretaste?"

There was a slight but perceptible note of mischievousness in T'Pol's prompt answer.

"Yes, my Lord. A foretaste, nothing more. A foretaste of the lavish feast that I am going to prepare for you. Just as a considerate vulcan wife must do for her husband and lord."

"A foretaste!"

"A foretaste, my Lord."

"A foretaste! Let's… let's see. One, two, three, four, five... yes. If I'm not mistaken in counting, the foretaste has… has consisted of eleven dishes!"

"Oh, my Lord! I ask humbly for forgiveness!"

At another time, Trip would have laughed in his sleeve. T'Pol had drawn from him really a lot of things, such as being capable of seeing to it that her voice were able to sound genuinely apologetic and, simultaneously, mischievously amused.

At another time, though. Certainly not at that moment. At that moment a certain _je ne sais quoi_ , something definitely recalling a feeling of real apprehension, fluttered in his belly. And, for sure, her next words did not contribute at all to mitigate this sort of sensation.

"I realize with regret, my Lord, that after the eleventh dish, my appetite has waned a little."

"H… huh? A… a little? You have still... appetite?"

"Of course, my Lord! But, with great disappointment, sorrow and dishonour on my part, I have required a break in the banquet you had magnanimously allowed me to set up for you! I'm not ready yet, unfortunately, despite being my desire fully working! What a guilt! What a shame! What a blame!"

"Huh? Ah... oh... well, come on... do not… do not overdo it!"

"But do not fear, my husband and lord!" T'Pol's tone changed radically. Certainty, now in her voice. An iron-clad certainty. But still with a now fully apparent undercurrent of saucy mischief. "I will know how to remedy!"

"You will know how..."

"This was only a prodrome, I told you, my Lord! Merely the early vague signs of my Pon Farr."

"V… vague?"

"When I will be in its fullness, the courses of the meal I will be capable of offering to you will be many, many more! They will be without limits, my Lord! With no interruption! And one tastier than the other!"

And at this point Trip's apprehension inevitably had to find an outlet, without beating about the bush. "My God, T'Pol! You want me to have indigestion!"

With a single, fluid, fast motion, T'Pol snapped up and straddled Trip, lying belly up on the floor.

With her knees and the tips of the feet propped on the floor and the legs folded up under the thighs, against his sides, her torso upright but slightly bent forward to lean on him with her hands resting flat on his chest, she looked at him with ardent look.

Hers was a hoarse whisper.

"Yes! I want you to have indigestion of me!"

Well, there was no doubt. He was not mistaken. Hostile aliens, invisible enemies, even his dark ancestral, demonic past. **(*)** He had had to go to through all sorts of things! He had been facing terrible trials! He had even had to defeat death for her! **(**)** But having to face her Pon Farr... well, this was the most arduous of trials!

Once before he had wondered if he would have been up to scratch, but now the question resurfaced powerfully in him, fraught, however, with a very different _'coloratura'_. Before, it was a matter of responsibility, the one he had towards T'Pol, who, in her own words, would no longer have been able to reason the moment she were have been completely prey to the Pon Farr. Now the question was _'Would he have been up to scratch... relatively to the physical effort he would have to endure? One may die of love!'_

It was as if T'Pol had read him in the eye and mind.

The Bond?

Maybe. But most likely something even more, superior even to the Bond. Something that only they two had.

She bowed her bust and bent down on him. Her lips brushed against his, her nipples tickled his chest. Her eyes, glowing and happy, sank into his.

"I will know how to instil in you with my ardour for you such a fervency and such a vigour, my Lord, my Master, my beloved, that, in the end, it will be me the one who will have to implore you to stop!"

And Trip immediately realized that those of T'Pol were not empty words.

In the face of that look of her; at the mild and exciting touch of her hard nipples against his skin; at the feel of his naked body against her naked body, her legs apart, astride his pelvis, her warm intimacy open and wet against his groin; in sensing a... a thing… something… strange, new, never felt before… intense, primal, animal… come from her, from the depth of her, of her being… a mad, rapacious, blind craving flared in him, despite the… previous eleven courses.

His hand shot out of its own volition, grabbed one breast of T'Pol. Squeezed it. Forcefully. His fingers grabbed her nipple. Squeezed it. Forcefully.

T'Pol abruptly arched her torso, raising quickly her head and throwing it backwards.

She inhaled sharply, with eyes tight shut.

Irregularly, laboriously, she slurred in a faint and hoarse voice.

"I... I need a little rest!"

Slowly she turned back her face toward him and, with difficulty, she opened her eyes.

They looked at him, clouded. Then they shut again.

Her hand went to his hand, to his fingers, that was torturing her nipple.

It vibrated between them.

T'Pol did not dare to remove his hand from her breast. She didn't manage. She could not.

But she was shaking now.

Showily.

Her voice was a pleading whisper.

"I beseech you, my Lord!"

She was begging him!

As she had said it would happen!

And she was not yet in the height of her Pon Farr!

Her blind fervour couldn't yet ignite to the maximum extent _his_ blind fervour!

And yet it was already so intense that Trip could not control himself!

"You said that you still have appetite, T'Pol!"

It was like the voice of a man possessed.

'Yes! Yes! It is so! "That of T'Pol was trembling."But I can not make it, Ashayam! When... when I give myself to you, when you take me, I give myself to you with my whole being! I... I empty my whole self, my T'hai'la!"

A tremulous prayer.

"When my Pon Farr will be at its peak, I will not have limits, my Adun! You... you will be able to take me restlessly, breathlessly!"

A supplication.

"I implore you! Let... let my appetite turn into a blind hunger! The blind hunger of my Pon Farr! The one you've kindled in me! Give me time! Remember... remember that you must take care of me!"

And those were the magical words.

For the tripe of Satan!

Of course, he had to take care of her!

Suddenly the demon, which, evoked precisely by T'Pol, had seized him, lost any hold over him.

His hand jerked away precipitously from her breast and drew back, as in shame.

Then it snapped again, together with the other.

His arms in their whole snapped upwards!

They enveloped to him the immeasurable treasure that fate had wanted to give him!

And, it seemed, all along. From the dawn of time!

Burying her inside his embrace, against his chest, he whispered in a broken voice in that wonderful pointy ear of her.

"All the time you want, my love! All the time you need!"

Then his impassioned whisper became a gently ironical murmur.

"At least the time we need to finish reading the fable. It is my understanding that it is not so short and, excuse me Honey, do we want to stop, by chance, just when the Princess is going to fully realize who is really the one in whose hands she has fallen? Pathos! Pathos, for Beelzebub's sake! Never interrupting the pathos! Am I mistaken by saying that precisely you have asserted this?"

T'Pol sighed deeply, by true happiness, in Trip's arms. He was back to be him! Her beloved Trip! The one who always - always, always, always! - knew how to understand her, even without understanding, and how to help her and how to take care of her! With his slight and sweet irony! Or even with its raw and irreverent sarcasm! But always - always, always, always! - in any case overflowing with love for her!

Her head nodded, from the depth of his hug.

His laugh rang cheerful and mild into her ear.

"Okay, babe. Then, let's regain our position on the couch and ..."

T'Pol untangled abruptly herself from his arms and snapped again sitting astride him.

She looked at him, almost frowning, from the top of her position. "No."

Trip's tongue began to rummage the inside of his cheek. "No?"

T'Pol did not answer. Under the puzzled and curious look of Trip, she jumped up.

She looked down at him severely. "Stand up."

According to the recent revelations, she should not have been giving orders, but... exceptions exist and they serve to confirm the rules. And then... something told Trip that it could be not a bad thing that of leaving the command to her, sometimes.

So, he obeyed. Without blinking.

She took his hand and led him to the couch. She stopped in front of it.

"Sit down, now. On the floor. Your back to the couch, so that it can support you as a backrest."

Trip did not say a single word, nor made a gesture. Simply, he obeyed again promptly.

T'Pol looked at him from above. Her eyes weighed up his position on the floor.

"Very well. We are almost there. But you have to stay sitting with your legs apart."

Trip executed immediately.

T'Pol nodded approvingly, then, quickly, she moved. She retrieved the PADD and, with that in hand, she positioned herself opposite Trip, not frontally, though, but with her back turned to him.

Carefully and cautiously, she started to squat down, lowering herself until her backside was located exactly above the hollow delimitated by Trip's spread legs and, at that point, after a quick explorative glance to be sure of her position, helping herself by leaning on one of his thighs the hand free from the PADD, she let her backside fall down into the mentioned hollow. She settled down comfortably inside that delimited space, on the floor, and crossed her legs so that she could remain sitting snugly and at ease in that posture. Then, finally, nodding satisfied, she leaned back against him, practically reclined backwards on him, with the heat of his manhood against her lower back and her back and her nape resting cosily against his chest.

His bantering voice rang out from behind her.

"Comfy, sweetie?"

Quiet and calm, her voice echoed in response.

"Completely, husband." Then, a rather noticeable note of tease also echoed in hers. "And you, my Lord?"

"Oh, me too, me too. But ..."

"But, my Lord?"

"I do not think I can keep the PADD in hand to read, with you arranged in this way, vulcan dolly."

"Oh, but it will be me to hold the PADD, so that you can read from behind me, from above my shoulder, my Lord! And then, how could you keep the PADD in hand? Your hands have other things to do!"

"Oh? And what sort of things, pray tell?"

"My Lord, I know from experience that you do not love to stay with idle hands and also that you like to occupy them in more productive actions than the one, rather boring for a person as you are, to hold up the PADD. So I thought well it was appropriate for us to acquire a position such as to allow me to hold up the PADD in your place, however without being you unable to read it, freeing you from this tedious task, and at the same time such as to afford you not to stay, as I said, with idle hands, by using them in more productive actions, precisely."

"I thank you very much for your kind thought, sweetie, but would you mind telling me in what more productive actions I might occupy my hands, in this position?"

Might someone think that Trip's question was not rhetoric? That he had no idea what was the type of actions T'Pol alluded to? And might someone think that that of his voice was not a tongue-in-cheek tone?

However, to pay careful attention, there was also a note of wonder in it. Perforce. Because if the actions he thought that T'Pol wanted his hands to do were those he thought, well, then, saying that T'Pol loved the risk meant saying less than nothing!

Her voice startled him.

"I think, my Lord, that I do not need to tell you."

No. There was not at all need. And, now, two were the hands he could use.

Trip smiled and, without a moment's delay, ordered to his hands to engage in the actions he rightly believed that T'Pol wanted them to carry out.

The left came to rest on T'Pol's left breast, in the guise of a cup, passing from behind her, from under her armpit, and the same thing his right hand did, with her right breast.

Obviously he put all the sweetness of the world in doing so. Better to forget the ardour, in that circumstance. Pepper, sure. This was what T'Pol wanted. But not much. Just the right amount. Nothing more.

For the moment.

"Okay this way, my sweetie?" And it is not erroneous to say there was a touch of smugness, in his voice.

But to T'Pol it was enough a quick instant to dismantle his cheeky self-assurance.

"No, my Lord."

"N... no?" Surprise? Wonder? Perplexity? Incomprehension? Sure, this, and even more, sounded in Trip's babble. "But… but…"

"With the most intimate flower of my womanhood, as you would say when you're in the mood of poetry, so exposed, do not you think one of your hands could strive to... protect it from bad weather, my absent-mindedly uncaring Lord?"

And, having said that, T'Pol made follow the action to the words.

One of her hands, the right one, which did not hold up the PADD, grabbed one of Trip's hands, the right one. It detached this hand from her right breast with decision and, leaving the other where it stood, well steady around the other of her breasts, brought it to protect from bad weather, in the guise of a perfectly fitting covering, the… most intimate flower of her womanhood.

"T'Pol!"

"Yes, my Lord?"

"But… but didn't you need a little rest?"

"And could you think of a better rest than this?"

"Eh? But..."

"My Lord!"

Trip jerked at T'Pol's harsh call. His eyes widened in surprise.

But immediately after T'Pol's voice softened. It became a soft murmur. Sweet and passionate.

Trip listened to it. He listened with keen attention, as she spoke without lifting her head, leaning limply to him.

"Trip, my Adun. My ideas on the Pon Farr were vague and imprecise, so far. I knew nothing of it. All I knew was only that I had fear."

Trip's attention to T'Pol's words grew really intense.

"Yes, my Ashayam. Fear. The day when a vulcan male, by… by Ashaya, and you know what this word means, or... or most likely by biological unavoidability, had made snap the trigger of my Pon Farr inside me, not only I would have fallen prey to my physical, carnal imperatives. Not only that. I..."

It was heard clearly. A sort of frightened gasp from T'Pol.

"... I would have also been prey to the desires, to the blind cravings, of my so-called mate. Who would have made of me all he had wanted to. Oh I know, I know! That's what vulcan biology imposes on us Vulcans! Why be afraid? Why be afraid for something that is part of us? Why be afraid of the violence that, in those junctures, resurfaces, overbearing, in us? Why be afraid if... if instead of being loved, I would have been... "T'Pol's murmurous voice dropped to a barely audible whisper."...I would have been just possessed?"

Trip did not dare breathe. He stood listening. Just this.

"But I do not know what, maybe... maybe what you Humans call destiny, wanted you to be the one meant to ignite in me my first Pon Farr. My first and... and all the others, my K'diwa. Because you are my Chosen One."

Suddenly, T'Pol twisted her head back and upwards to look at Trip. Her eyes twinkled, almost savagely. For a moment, her voice rose, mighty.

"You carry upon you the brand of my choice! Of my possession over you!"

And, unconsciously Trip's eyes ran for a moment to peek his shoulder.

It was there. Indelible. The brand that T'Pol's teeth had left in his flesh that night. **(***)**

Then the flash of savagery vanished from T'Pol's gaze, as quickly as it had appeared. Her head settled down again quietly, with the nape reclined on Trip's chest, as his eyes left the sight of his shoulder and focused down, upon T'Pol's head, and his ears continued to listen with the most keen attention to her voice, gone back to be again the soft and passionate murmur of before.

"And so... so, my T'hai'la…"

T'Pol rubbed her nape against Trip's chest.

"So I no longer have fear, my Ashal-veh. I understand, I now know that my Pon Farr will not be made of truculent lust and violence. It will be... it will be fierce. Sure! It will be so! It is the vulcan mating! It can't but be wild! But it will be also marvellously sweet! It will be the Pon Farr that you, and only you, can give me. And if only I had one day the courage to reveal to the other vulcan females the... the beauty of the Pon Farr that you're gifting me, I would find myself having to defend you from swarms of aggressive females of my race, willing to do anything to give themselves to you!"

T'Pol dropped the PADD upon her knees and twisted her head again just as she had did an instant before, so that she could watch Trip's face again.

"And I want to savour the Pon Farr you have unleashed in me in every way! In every fold! In every nook and cranny! In every recess! Even the most secretive! Even the most forbidden! Even the most tormenting! I want... I want you to make me die and live in my Pon Farr! In the Pon Farr you're donating me as a sublime gift!"

Trip would possibly have wanted to say something. But how could he? There was that delicious, wonderful lump in his throat that prevented him.

T'Pol lowered her head and went back to make rest her neck on Trip's chest.

"And I can do it. I know I can do it. Without any fear. Because there you are. Because you'll know how to pander me and you'll know, however, also how to guide me. You'll know how to keep me on the edge, allowing me in this way to fully enjoy my Pon Farr without letting me fall into the abyss, until I'll be delirious for being precipitated into it. As already it has happened. As it will happen again. And with more and more frenzy on my part. But you'll be able to keep me hanging over that abyss, making me enjoy the exciting thrill of the void. You'll be able to do it. You'll know how to make me tremble with joy and lust and passion until the moment when I'll be able to make you feast without rest with my body and my soul. You... "T'Pol sighed. Deeply. "You'll know how to take care of me."

T'Pol fell silent, finally, and stood quiet and motionless, sitting cross-legged on the floor, in the hollow of Trip's spread legs, leaning back all over him, with the PADD inert upon her knees, with her left hand on his left hand, encircling her left breast, and with her right hand on his right hand, resting on... the most intimate flower of her womanhood.

And Trip remained quiet and still, he too.

Thinking.

Responsibility.

No. The word did not do justice.

Trip felt it keenly as it had never happened to him.

Much more than responsibility.

T'Pol's Pon Farr, even if only in its infancy, had brought into full light how big... immensely big... the responsibility he had towards her was.

But on the other hand, how could it not be so?

He had wanted her. Against everything and everyone. Even against her herself. And she had surrendered to him.

And he had wanted her for what she was. The wonderful, marvellous, unique vulcan female she was.

But that vulcan female had given herself to a Human. To him.

And how could that magnificent female Vulcan not want from him what she had sought in him?

The reason because of which she had surrendered to him?

The something that she - the special vulcan female she was - had sensed he, a human male - _**her**_ human male - had and that she wanted? Even without knowing? And that she couldn't surely find among the vulcan males?

Something different, deeper, than what a vulcan male could give her.

However she was a Vulcan female. She was the vulcan female who had made crazy his heart. So…

So, at the same time, she couldn't but search in him, couldn't but want from him, even what a vulcan male could give her.

Inwardly, Trip sighed. Deeply.

He had wanted her. Yes. And she had given up everything she had believed in, everything had been her world, her being, to give herself to him.

How couldn't he repay her by giving her her world yet, but also what her world could not give her and that she had sought in him?

The Pon Farr, her Pon Farr, was the great trial.

He had to, he absolutely had to, satisfy her as any vulcan male, equipped with what's supposed that a vulcan male should be fitted out with, would give her.

But he had to, he absolutely had to, also give her that something that no vulcan male could ever give her.

The tenderness. The sweetness. And the passion. Languorous and soft. Intense and ethereal. _Human._

Difficult?

Well no.

As for the ardour, the vulcan ardour... this would have been her task. Had she not told him herself? And, judging from what had just happened, wasn't it perhaps true?

As for the rest... the tenderness and the sweetness and everything else...

No. It would not be difficult.

As for the tenderness and the sweetness, as for the languid and soft and intense and ethereal - _human_ \- passion... this would have been task of his love for her.

There could possibly be some vulcan male able to love her as much as he loved her?

There could possibly be any male able to do it? A male who wasn't him?

Only he could do it.

And he would.

Sweetly, tenderly, projecting on her, without even knowing how he could do it, but aware of doing it, a sense of languor and soft passion, Trip exerted a little pressure with both his hands on both spots of T'Pol.

Laughing quietly at her slight jolt, he nodded from over her head.

"Okay, vulcan doll. I'll take care of you." His low laugh made itself heard again. "In the best way."

Then he laughed again, softly. "But remember that there are limits to my endurance. Do not push things too far."

T'Pol's sigh was deep and happy as ever.

"I do not know well what you want to say, my Lord, your words are obscure. But, perhaps something of their meaning I can grasp. And I'll try to remember them."

Could you believe? It seemed as if T'Pol was laughing. Jokes of the peculiar situation in which Trip's hearing, like every other sense of him, was? Mh. Yes sure. Maybe.

"But..." Maybe, to tell the true. _Very_ maybe. "... I can not assure you I will be able to do it, my Adun."

Trip laughed aloud. "Does this mean that we can do without going to pick up the blanket to cover us?"

"Why? Is it perhaps cold, my Lord? I do not feel cold."

Trip, inevitably, laughed again, loudly.

Then his voice burst out, sudden.

Determined, he ordered. "Raise that damn PADD, woman! How can you expect from me that I can be able to read, if you continue to keep it down upon your knees?"

T'Pol snapped.

"Yours to command, my husband, lord and master!"

And reading started again.

* * *

 _ **End of Chapter Thirty**_

 _ **TBC**_

 **oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo**

 **oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo**

 _And that's enough! The not postponable needs of the Princess and the Nameless One will no longer be postponed!_

 _This is a solemn promise!_

 **oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo**

 **oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo**

 **(*)** ** _And here we go again! Once again a reminder to one of my stories! " In the Hall of the Mountain King"!_**

 **(**)** ** _Oh my! A further reminder to one of my stories! "Destiny "! Be merciful with me, my friends!_**

 **(***)** ** _And it's not enough yet! Here I am referring to another of my stories: "Depths". You know, the one you can find not here, because too peppery, but elsewhere, on TriaxianSilk and on my own site: plomeeksoupandpecanpie . weebly . com - Be doubly merciful with me, my friends!_**


	31. The Ears of the Elves - Chapter 31

**The Ears of the Elves**

 **By Asso**

 **Chapter Thirty-one**

* * *

 _And here, my friends. The not postponable needs of the Princess and the Nameless One come back domineeringly to make themselves heard._

 _I keep the promise I made with the previous chapter._

 _But... well, without haste, my friends. Without rushing._

* * *

 **The Ears of the Elves**

 **Chapter Thirty-one**

 **oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo**

 **oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo**

* * *

The Princess stood silent for long moments, her eyes fixed on those, dark and heavy, of the human slave.

Then, finally, she found her voice again. And it sounded rough and tough.

Of course, she would not have wanted it to sound like that, but her heart and her mind could not tolerate what her ears had just heard.

And her voice could not but betray the laceration of her soul.

And so she almost screamed.

She screamed her disbelief and her horror.

And her despair, too.

The despair of her heart. A heart that desperately wanted to deny what it knew. Because it knew. It knew that it had been imprisoned. Just as the body that the heart made so it could live. And the incarcerator, of the body as well as of the heart, was... the Lord of the Army of Darkness.

"You lie!"

The girl startled. "Princess..."

"It is not true! NOT TRUE! The Army of Darkness is a tale, a grim legend! A myth born from the night! There is no Army of Darkness! It doesn't exist! He... he can not be the Lord of the Army of Darkness!"

"But he can look like!"

The voice of the girl sounded just as rough and tough as that of the Princess, while her dark eyes hardened.

This time there was no reverence.

But, immediately after, those dark eyes changed. The expression, at first incredulous and disoriented and then wounded and hard, which had appeared in those eyes, faded away. It became dumbfounded. And then pensive. And it all happened in the short space of a moment. Vaguely, indistinctly, the girl had understood or maybe it would be better to say that she had perceived.

She found herself thinking - vaguely, indistinctly - that there could be a valid reason - valid and… and astounding! - for the way the Princess had assailed her.

The heart of the Princess trembled.

Sure! And how could it be not so? Enslaved - she, the Princess Alel - by the man who looked like the Lord of Darkness! _**How?**_ _How could it be not so?_

But... and if that heart was trembling also because...

 _Above all_ because...

Oh, becoming aware, realizing in full that the gruesome Master in whose hands she had fallen could easily be equated with the fabled, horrid Lord of the Infernal Army... this, in itself, was enough to justify the tremor of that heart and the vehemence of the Princess' outcry.

But... but if had there been something else? Something more? Something that could be accountable even further for the accusation, violent and senseless, of the Princess?

Their Master… he was…

The girl was conscious. Altogether. Everyone was conscious!

Their Lord and Master was bewitching! Devilishly bewitching! There was no male who were not mindful of that. There was no slave-girl who were not a victim of it! There was... there was undoubtedly charm, in their dour Lord and Master. A dark and magnetic charm.

He was horrendous, he was wicked. He was a tenebrous demon, in the face and in the soul. If had a soul. And yet... and yet ... oh she too! She, too, the miserable slave girl that she was, had felt the mysterious and powerful force of that eye - that single blue eye - when it, indifferent and distant, had come to alight on her! A charm made of something indefinable, like... like... like sadness. An endless sadness. Like a... a sorrowful awareness of damnation. Without appeal. And an otherworldly solitude. And… a desire? An impossible desire... of... of unattainable peace?

Could it be possible? Could it be true what that eye, beautiful and mesmeric, embedded like a lonely gem in that deformed face of beast, seemed to let nebulously see?

Oh, the girl didn't have answers.

But she too had felt that arcane and lacerating charm. The fascination of evil? Or the fascination... _oh that unfathomable feeling of sadness in that eye... of... of gloomy, forlorn despair! Of condemnation to despair!..._ or the fascination of an evil that had only learned to be evil and... and that would have willed to be able not to be evil?

The girl had never had such thoughts. Her life had merely been precipitated suddenly into slavery, after the happy serenity of her childhood and her adolescence. And her life had changed because of that demon in pseudo-human form, who, now, aroused in her those unheard of thoughts.

But that cry. THAT CRY! That unexpected and incomprehensible and virulent verbal assault by the Princess! _Why? Why such a cry?_

Surely… surely that blue eye, that tenebrously enticing eye, had had to be well far from being indifferent and distant, when it had come to alight on the Princess! Surely that eye had shone, glittering and sombre, even more with that malefic, unfathomable charm!

And… and was it possible that that charm, that puzzling fascination, could swallow up into its deathly darkness even... even the shining light of the luminous Princess of elven people?

What... what had happened... what had _really_ happened that night... between the Princess and their Dark Lord?

The girl tried to dismiss that thought, without success.

It was... it was too big!

And... and it could also mean... it could also mean...

Oh Gods! Darkness can also win on the light, but... but if the light is really powerful, if indeed mighty it's its source… it is also possible that, in the end, light prevails and that it may dispel the darkness.

 _That light may absorb darkness into its radiance!_

 _If the radiance is strong enough._

 _Like that of the Princess!_

Too big, that thought! Too big!

The girl did not want to dwell on it! She only wished to calm, soothe her restless and frightened Princess.

Her eyes softened. Her hand squeezed gently the one of the Princess.

"Princess..." Her voice was a soft whisper. "The army of men under the command of our Lord and Master does not pursue evil in and of itself. That's true. That's not what our Master seeks. But..." The eyes of the girl went down for a moment, as her voice wavered. "...but I... I do not think this can make much difference for those to whom his..." The girl, swallowed, afraid to dare say what she was about to say. "...his face of beast shows itself as the horrid and demonic stone seal of the end of their lives."

Another hand gently grabbed the other hand of the Princess. The hand of the elven slave.

And also her voice rose. Soft and sweet. Like that of her human companion.

A strange sort of recondite link had arisen between her and her fellow slave, something that was not there before, something that their Princess, somehow, had allowed it to appear. It was as if the two of them complemented one another, as if their minds - as if the words conceived by their minds - came to the aid, now of the one, now of the other, to give voice to what, now the one, now the other, failed to express.

"Princess, allow me to explain you what's what the armigers of our Lord and Master commit themselves in. Let me explain who... _what_... they are for real."

The girl was silent for a briefest moment, to gather her own thoughts, as the Princess did not even have care to nod an assent that could not but be given.

"They are not the Army of Darkness. Our Master is not the dark demon who commands it. He is alive and real, he is made of flesh and bone. It's true what you say. The Army of Darkness is an obscure myth, nothing more. A legend of the night." A quick glance between the two girls. "But maybe... maybe our Master does not know."

The girl stopped talking. She looked at the Princess with anxious eyes.

The Princess held her breath. Then, finally, she nodded. She realized that the girl needed a sign from her.

"Speak, my damsel."

* * *

Trip's voice stopped.

T'Pol held her breath. She did not dare turn her face to him. She murmured "Trip ..."

He sighed heavily, from above her.

Then his voice went on reading.

* * *

Low, very low, as if reluctant to make itself heard, the slave's voice resumed talking.

"The men who follow our Master and Lord are all human and have vowed total loyalty to him. All of them united to each other by one thing; that of being - all - talented in... in their peculiar field. Outcasts, pariahs, convicted, outlaws, desperadoes, rejected by all, without law nor homeland, who, one after another, have joined him. Put together in the most various ways along the way. Men not thirsty for riches or stolen goods. He does not want such men. He wants only men who do without raising questions what he wants them to do. And no one, ever, thinks of not doing so. He has collected them together, has organized them, has made them not a gang of brigands, but a sort of veritable army, agile and fast, feared and uncatchable. With him, they are no longer outcasts, pariahs, convicted, outlaws, desperadoes. They are the deadly, errant warriors of the Nameless One."

* * *

"It is it really true that fables hide great truths, honey."

T'Pol shifted in Trip's arms. "What do you mean, Ashayam?"

"Evil begets evil, darling."

And T'Pol couldn't help but recognize the profound truth of Trip's statement.

She nodded, clinging to him with her back.

He sighed.

Then he continued.

* * *

"Their actions are aimed and carefully prepared. The scouts comb tracks, hills and forests. Mountains and rivers, lakes and ravines do not stop them. They push themselves forward for alloys in search for possible targets, while the bulk of the men is left behind, scattered in insignificant groupuscules encamped here and there, too small to attract attention and ready to vanish into thin air in front of the slightest sign of danger, but also able to oppose a fierce and unexpected resistance facing unwise attacks, giving time to the other groups, those closest, to rush up in forces, informed by the men used as liaisons between the various groups. I've seen it happen, my Princess. And I saw the end that the attackers have met."

The Princess perceived perfectly well how much the young elven girl felt a heavy heart in telling her what she was saying, because she was stating without mincing words, was putting it well clear, that the sombre stories about the Nameless One were anything but stories. They were real, like it was him, the monster that seemed to have been invented to scare children and maidens. And not only them.

The monster that Atana had realized that stood there - _alive and real, in flesh and bone_ \- in front of them.

"When the scouts have located a possible prey, they come back." It was the other slave girl, the human one. She went to the aid of her elven companion. "They report. Our Lord and Master is notified. He evaluates and, if he deems it appropriate, he determines the action plan and the assault expedition moves off. And never it happens that the action fails".

The Princess didn't miss a word of the slave-girl.

In front of her a world was opening. The world of the Nameless One.

The gloomy, dark, gory world of her Lord and Master.

"The forces are always calibrated in relation to the target which has to be hit and to the place where it is located or where the attack will come, as well as the type of forces employed. They can be archers or swordsmen or crossbowmen or knights or knaves or spearmen, all of them or some of them, variable in number depending on the case, used simultaneously or at different times, according as they have to act in woods or in forests or in clearings or in canyons or in gulches or along bights of rivers or in open spaces and whatnot."

"They launch their attack on the designated prey, waiting in ambush, hidden and unexpected, concealed in the shadows." It was the other slave to talk.

"Or..." The human slave girl again. "...the attack is open and blatant, if circumstances permit, introduced by their silent manifesting themselves, in serried ranks, to the eyes of assaulted people."

"Isolated columns of elven or human warriors, or bands of marauding Humans." The elven slave. Again. "The solitary wayfarers, male or female they are, are not even taken in consideration, nor the armed groups escorting women, maidens or children."

* * *

"So is therefore remained a little piece of soul inside the Nameless One? Surely he pursues a damn bloody revenge, but... it does not seem to be a blind and indiscriminate vengeance."

T'Pol pressed her nape against Trip's chest.

"Do you remember, Adun? Do you remember the words of the human slave girl? _'There are no mass rapes, here! Nor any other type of public violence, physical or moral, against the slave girls!'_ And you said also that the Princess has perhaps sensed in the Nameless One some kind of hidden greatness."

"Yeah. Just like that. So... so this means that the Princess really has something on which to act. I mean, she will actually succeed in saving him from the brink of his wickedness. Oh yes, yes, I know. You've already said this over and over again and you also said that he will have to pay a very high price to redeem himself. But..."

Trip could not finish the sentence. He felt T'Pol's body start suddenly to tremble slightly against his.

He realized he had touched something that was better not to touch.

Abruptly he changed tone and subject, pretending not to understand.

"Are you cold, darling? Maybe it's better that we get back on the sofa, under the blanket." He chuckled ostentatiously, but with kindness. "I swear I will put my hands how and where you want them to be."

T'Pol willingly swallowed the bait he had launched her. Willingly and with inner gratitude.

"Yes, maybe it's better, Ashayam."

No sooner said than done.

Trip stood up without effort and, without effort, he raised T'Pol together with him, complete with the PADD still in her hands, holding her on his arms, like a bride.

With her held like that, he went to the couch and sat on it, cautiously, still carrying T'Pol on his arms.

He sprawled himself on the couch, stretching out his legs and, crossing his ankles, he leant with his head to one of the armrests.

T'Pol completed the work, acting together with him and with no need for him to tell her how he wanted the two of them to put themselves on the couch.

While grabbing the blanket and pulling it up, covering so both of them, simultaneously she settled comfortably, she too, lying on her side on top of Trip, a little sideways, with the right shoulder placed a little backwards from her head and with her right arm folded under her, so that her head could be resting by its right side on his chest, and with her left arm stretched out along her flank, limply leaning on it.

In the warmth of the blanket and of his body, completely lying on him, her eyes closed, her voice rose, low. "Better it's you to hold the PADD, Adun." And warm. And dreamy. "I can not do it in this position."

"All right, vulcan doll." And he took with his left hand the PADD that T'Pol had abandoned over the blanket while she was busy to settle down in that cosy position and he held it high enough, from above her head, in a manner suitable to allow him to read "However, in this way, I'm left with only one hand available." And he chuckled slyly.

"We will see to use it in the best way, my Lord."

And T'Pol did just a simple thing. She was lying on Trip with her right side, as if he were her mattress, huddled on top of him, and her legs were lying on one another, bent, the left over the right. The hollow of her thighs was very easily reachable, on his part.

It was... at hand.

She merely lifted a little the left knee, widening slightly her thighs. And made room.

Trip laughed. Openly. And his right hand, the free one, immediately slipped between T'Pol's thighs.

And T'Pol's left leg immediately fell back on her right leg.

Now Trip's right hand was trapped between T'Pol's thighs.

In the warmth.

And extremely close to her most intense heat.

Trip laughed again. "Are we settled good, baby doll?"

T'Pol sighed. "Quite, my Lord."

"Ah well. So then, can I take back to read?"

"Resume doing it, my Lord."

But, suddenly, her voice trembled slightly, as her eyes opened out.

"Remember, though, Adun, that..." She hesitated. "...that the little piece of soul you mentioned is... is only a miserable little piece. Almost... almost non-existent."

Trip frowned.

He said nothing.

He resumed reading, with the heart became abruptly heavy.

* * *

"Our Lord says he is not interested in the souls of those who can not offer resistance." The human female, she again. It was her to explain the claims of her companion, dissipating the sudden and obvious confusion popped into the Princess' eyes. "It's not this what he seeks. He says he has no intention of wasting energies to annihilate armed men escorting souls that do not interest him. He wants... the blood of those who shed or can shed blood. Whether elven or human."

"And his men swoop down on the hapless warriors or bandits they have targeted like vultures." The elven girl.

"And none of those who have been assaulted survives." The human one.

"Never."

The seal word.

Pronounced contemporaneously by the tremulous lips of both the slave girls.

* * *

"But to hell!" And the PADD found itself on the ground for the umpteenth time.

As an eel, T'Pol turned between Trip's arms. In the blink of an eye she was kneeling in front of him, before the sofa.

To look, anxious and concerned, at the angry face of him.

"Adun!"

There was no need for him to say anything. There wasn't any need.

"Fear not, Ashayam! He will make it! The Nameless One will manage to rip up the darkness that envelops him! He will pay dearly! I said it! But he will make it! The Princess will succeed in making him capable of doing it!"

"But..." Trip sprang to sit on the couch, watching T'Pol with incensed eyes. "…but there is not such a high price, T'Pol! How... how can there be a price such that he, the Lord of such an army, can pay to free himself? To redeem himself?"

And, at that violent outburst, suddenly, T'Pol's face became a mask of sadness.

Trip winced. He took fright. He had never seen her so.

He jumped down from the couch and dropped to his knees, he too, in front of T'Pol.

Her eyes were looking at him.

Sad as never.

Then she lowered her head. She leaned against him, resting her forehead on his shoulder.

"That price exists, Trip." How heartbroken was her voice! "It exists. And the Nameless One will pay it. He will do it... wittingly!"

Then she raised her head again towards him.

In her eyes... there were tears in her eyes!

Trip took her face in his hands almost violently. "T'Pol, my love! No! What are you doing?"

T'Pol widened her eyes and, abruptly, got up furiously. She stood firm an instant, watching him from above with those watery eyes, then, without warning, she threw herself on him, hurled herself down against him, literally knocking him to sit on the ground, with his back pressed against the couch. She snuggled in his lap like a ball. Hugged him with fury.

"Hold me, Ashayam! Hold me tight! Let me feel that you are with me! Stay... stay with me! "

"T'Pol! But what…?"

"Hug me tight! Hug me tight!"

"T'Pol"

"So! So! So!"

Trip's arms held T'Pol tight like never they had done.

She trembled into them, her face buried in his chest.

He held her tightly even more.

Gradually her trembling subsided.

He felt her relax in his embrace.

Gently, he freed an arm and put his index finger under her chin.

With infinite sweetness he lifted her head, forced her face to look at his.

Her eyes were full of tears.

No. NO! So wrong! Woe! Woe!

"T'Pol, my soul, do not do that please! You know... you know that this hurts you! "He tried to joke. It worked always with her. "Think that you have even forced me to come back from the beyond to prevent you from crying!" **(*)**

This time it did not work. T'Pol's eyes widened so much that they seemed about to splash out of the orbits. She began to tremble like a leaf.

Trip felt terrified. What the hell! WHAT THE HELL!

He shook her again in his arms. He buried her against him, into his embrace.

"T'Pol! T'Pol! Stop it! Stop it! "

T'Pol clung to him as not even ivy is able to do. And it took more than a little time and a lot of efforts on Trip's part, before she could calm down again.

Finally, as God wanted, he felt that she loosened little by little her spasmodic clinging to him, while continuing to stay curled up in his lap.

She lifted her face toward him. A face streaked with tears that scared Trip to death.

"Oh my God, T'Pol! You... Please no! Do not cry. Do not cry!"

T'Pol smiled. Vulcan or not she was, there were times when it was really a good thing that she did it with Trip. Just with him and with him only, of course. And so she did even then. A pale shadow of a smile, in truth, but still a smile. "Adun, you know that Vulcans do not cry."

Trip smiled back. Gently. With relief. Heartened. Oh well... sufficiently heartened.

She had made a joke. Good sign. It meant that she was trying to fight back. He had to go along with her.

He threw himself to play his usual part of Trip. "Oh sure. What a kind of idiot I am."

He grinned. Trip, the Trip she loved, would have done so, would have teased her for her joke. To get things back to normal. She was trying to hunt back the devil who had gripped her in the ways she had learned from him. With the irony. Well, he could not and should not to be outdone. He could not let her desperate effort end up wasted. He knew very well that this was what she was expecting from him.

"Sorry, vulcan doll. It seemed to me. Jokes of my human mind. It is not a vulcan mind, you know."

T'Pol's face became perfectly Vulcan. Well, she had to sniff with her nose, but overall it was little thing. Nonchalantly, she dried the tears that did _not_ roll down over her face.

"Adun, it is true." Damn! She had to be able to make a little less shaky her voice! Far from easy, though! "You have limits..."

"Uh... thanks."

"... since you're a Human..."

"Of course. It goes without saying. "

"...and since you're you."

"Oh thanks again, my little joy. This too goes without saying, needless any comment."

"I'm pleased that you acknowledge you have limits, my Lord. This gives credit to your intelligence, that everyone knows being extremely vivid. Actually, logic dictates all people to have some limits and you can not certainly be an exception. I like to think that to the achievement of this outcome my own vulcan logic is not extraneous, that it has been able to..."

Abruptly T'Pol stopped. If she was trying to make another joke, the game failed her. Definitely.

"But… but with all your limits..." Her eyes widened again. She restarted to shake. She clung again madly to Trip. The demon that had gripped her did not want to leave her. "... you're my Adun! And... and you'll never leave me! You'll stay always with me!"

Her face looked back up at his. Her chin trembled. "True, Trip? TRUE, TRIP? "

"But... but of course! What the hell! You know it, T'Pol!"

Trip did not understand. What the hell was up with her?

Then... a light in his mind. A light anything but pleasant.

The price. The price that the Nameless One would have to pay. What was... what was that price?

His voice grew hard. "T'Pol. I'm not the Nameless One."

T'Pol seemed to freeze. She looked at him wide-eyed, a true sparkle of fear in her gaze. "But he's you! You, you, you said it!"

"And you have torn to shreds my stupid statement!" Then, suddenly, Trip smiled. Gently. "T'Pol, my vulcan doll, the Nameless One is no more. I'm there. And I'm with you."

T'Pol's chin trembled even more visibly, as well as her lips. "And…"

"And I'll always be with you." His smile became even more gentle, but, in some way, also sure and determined. "Remember. You are my Destiny." **(*)**

At other times, seeing T'Pol dissolve in tears would have filled Trip with pure anguish, but, in truth, such a reaction on her part at his words did not seem to him particularly worrying, at that moment.

Those were tears of relief and joy. The T'Pol of the past would not have reacted that way, but the T'Pol that T'Pol had become for his love, sacrificing so much of herself just to be able to love him as she had foolishly thought she had to do, as if love could have limits... this T'Pol would.

Was doing it.

And, strange as this might seem, it was good, very good thing.

Trip's hands girded gently T'Pol's face. How wonderful and gratifying the responsibility was he had towards her!

On his face the sweetest smile broadened. He winked. "What do you say, baby doll? Do we resume reading the fable? "

T'Pol sniffed without a shadow of shame, while the fingers of her Adun wiped away her tears.

"Yes, Ashayam. Let's do it. "

"And which of the countless positions that we have taken on tonight do you want us to assume?" And his eyes gleamed with amused malice, the same which vibrated in the tone of his voice.

T'Pol's response was quick and absolutely serious and heartfelt. "Any position, Adun. As long as you hold me tight, tight, tight to you."

And one more time Trip felt a lump go up to his throat. A knot of delight, so much intense as to be almost heartbreaking.

He tried to jest. For her, sure, but... but mostly for himself, to win that suffocating lump.

"The Pon Farr is unforgiving, eh my girl?"

T'Pol closed her eyes. "It is what I feel for you that does not forgive, my K'diwa."

The knot in Trip's throat vanished, got transformed. It became heat. Which warmed his whole body. Which enveloped his heart.

It was T'Pol the one who spoke so. The same T'Pol who had, over and over again, torn to shreds his heart.

But what on earth were the tribulations he had had to go through in comparison with what she now was giving him? In comparison with the infinity of love that now he was receiving from her?

Had not those tribulations been a price that was well worth paying? Wasn't it so?

Of course it was so! No price was too high to get her love! And such an unconditional love! No one!

No o...

Sudden and cold and unwelcome, the thought crept in Trip's mind.

Was... was perchance just this what the Nameless One had thought at the moment... at the moment when he had found himself having to pay the price of his redemption?

The price of the love of his Princess? Of the… _unconditional_ … love of his Princess?

The price that would allow him to be worthy of her?

To be deserving of her love?

Whatever it was such a price?

Whatever it was?

Whatever?

Yeah.

 _Whatever._

Trip shook himself.

He chuckled. A little forcedly.

"Well, hon, the position in which we were just a moment ago on the couch seems to me sufficiently adequate. Full of..." He chuckled again, after clearing his throat. "...full of fruitful developments."

There was no doubt. What he heard from T'Pol was a deep sigh. And a giggle.

He smiled. But not to her, she couldn't see his smile. Her eyes were still closed. Almost with a sort of impish bashfulness.

He smiled to himself.

Then he laughed quietly. "Do we proceed, little doll?"

And, in no time at all, the two of them found themselves in the same position. And T'Pol was fully collaborative.

Trip shook slightly the PADD again placed in his left hand and ready to be read again, T'Pol's left shoulder supporting to his arm, while his right hand was enjoying one more time the warmth and smoothness of her thighs.

"Okay, enough with the chatter, now, vulcan doll." His voice resounded strong and determined. "The Princess needs to know." And sweetly playful at the same time. "Let's not make her wait."

* * *

 ** _End of Chapter Thirty-one_**

 ** _TBC_**

 **oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo**

 **oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo**

 _No. Let's not make the Princess wait._

 _The time needed. Not a second more._

 **oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo**

 **oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo**

 **(*)** _ **Ahem… do you remember my "Destiny"?**_


	32. The Ears of the Elves - Chapter 32

**The Ears of the Elves**

 **By Asso**

 **Chapter Thirty-two**

* * *

 _What had she ever done?_

* * *

 **The Ears of the Elves**

 **Chapter Thirty-two**

 **oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo**

 **oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo**

* * *

The Princess stood silent for long moments, staring eyes, tense breath.

Then her hands squeezed the hands of her damsels.

The hands that were holding hers tightly in an attempt to give comfort to her.

The hands of her companions of slavery.

 _Slavery_ _._

Her eyes narrowed as she tried in vain to figure out.

She was a slave. And also her new damsels and friends were.

But for her it was explainable, in a sense. For the two girls instead... according to what they had told her...

That she, as well... as well as Atana, her damsel and friend since forever, the one who had not hesitated to run towards death for her but who thanks to gods was still alive, had both become spoils of their... of their tenebrous Lord... this was definitely explicable in the light of how things had gone, in the light of the events. And... and yes... it had been a case, a lucky accident for him. For the one who had become the master of her life.

Something that, for a time that no one would have ever believed possible that it couldn't happen, had happened, in the end. A gang of Humans - Soldiers? Lowlifes? Bandits? - had made it. Had managed to surprise and vanquish her experienced, trained, brave warriors.

How could it have happened? She would never have known. Maybe staying in that castle in ruins had been a wrong idea. Walls. _Walls_ , finally. After so much time spent in hiding in the open, without shelter, among ravines and forests. Could all this have induced in her men a sense of false - and dangerous - safety? Could it have led them to lower a little their guard? Could it have created in them a sense of... of home, much as certainly the manor could remember only in the most poignant nostalgia their homes of the past?

Thoughts, ideas, speculations devoid of real substance. Nothing more.

It had happened. This was the only thing that could be said.

However...

 _However…_

However that gang of human marauders who had slaughtered her men and almost raped Atana, who were going to make her do the most inglorious and humiliating end…

Why, how come, the Nameless One and his men had popped out on the crumbling ramparts, among the battlements of the castle? Just in time? Just in time, at least, to save her and Atana from the horrible end that both were on the brink of doing at the hands of that human scum?

As if she had read her thoughts, the human girl started talking again.

"It was the setting of the sun when we saw them leave the encampment. Him, our Lord, and a not too copious number of archers. Not copious, that's true. But well experienced. His best archers. Everyone knew what our Lord was going to do with them. It was known. The rumour had run. Everyone was aware of what was the goal of the expedition. A gang of Humans would have soon experienced the excruciating pain of the tips of the arrows of the archers of our Lord. They would have seen the... scary face of our gloomy Master the moment of death. And of no use it would have been the flimsy bulwark of the ruined walls of the ramshackle castle where they had flocked in the hunt for a column of elven warriors, already allocated in the manor."

The girl smiled sadly. "Two birds with one stone. A gang of human assassins and a squadron of elven warriors. Encased, all of them, in a castle in ruins, trapped inside, easy prey to unforeseen and unexpected arrows, without any warning from the elven sentries, already identified and suppressed by their human aggressors. All in one fell swoop."

So it was so. The Princess nodded thoughtfully to herself. The gang of Humans had been targeted by the dark army of the Nameless One and, along with them, even an elven warriors company. _Her_ warriors! A great good blow to her beastly Master and for the army of his predators of lives! But, on the other hand, that was his way to act, right? So the two young girls had claimed. And that meant that, therefore, her rescue from the hands of that gang of plunderers as well as her subsequent capture, hers and of Atana, on the part of the Nameless One, was, in all probability, the unhoped-for and unforeseen result of the attack by him already planned against those damn bandits and rapists and against the elven armigers, _her_ soldiers, who, by the first ones, had, in turn, been targeted.

And, indeed, if she thought about his reaction at her words when she had told him who she was, there was really to believe it was so.

And, once again, the words of the girl confirmed her intuitions.

"We saw them return with something that we did not know that they would have brought with them. Had our Master smelt out something? I do not know, my Lady. Very often he gives us the impression that he is capable of detecting from the slightest clues things that nobody else is able to perceive. But certainly no one bothered to find out if he suspected anything when..."

The girl stopped abruptly, then she went back to speak, in a voice full of emotion. "A group of his men was carrying an elf-maiden, very beautiful. And naked and unconscious. And he... he was carrying on his arms another elf-maiden, she too passed out and of whom only the gorgeous face could be seen, completely wrapped as she was in his cloak."

The eyes of the slave pointed on the face of the Princess. "You, my Lady."

So things stood exactly this way, as she had thought. The Nameless One, perhaps - why not? - also driven by... by his bestial instinct, had more or less fortuitously and eventfully found himself with her between his hands. Her. The Princess Alel.

An unexpected… no, perhaps not entirely unexpected… but in any case... a coveted prey for him.

A prey to be used in... in some way, as he had said.

A way... different from the way he had used her that night.

The Princess' heart flinched inside her in an unstoppable burst of haunting awareness.

From the way... from the way she had wanted to be used by him.

But if she had fallen slave of the Nameless One that way... that way - how to say? - inevitable, consequence of how things had gone; if... if the goals of the war expeditions... of the war expeditions of the army of the Nameless One were those that she had been told; and... and if no one of those against whom the war expeditions were directed ever escaped death... how... how to explain the presence, there, along with her, of her companions of slavery?

How to explain the presence of slave girls, among that army of predators of lives?

Not many, okay, as she was told. However they were there. They existed.

The two girls were there, with her. And they were slaves.

How could one explain that?

Accidental circumstances, as in her case? Though perhaps suspected and, someway, searched? And maybe pursued? Exactly... exactly as, perhaps, for her? But no. No. How had the human girl said? She had said... had said... _'... the capture of a maiden is a very rare thing and… and it happens for… for specific reasons.'_

Specific reasons. What specific reasons? What did all this mean?

The human girl seemed really able to read her thoughts. She started talking again. And resumed to explain.

"My Lady, the lands of this vast territory are scattered with villages, villages of Elves and villages of Humans, hidden the first ones, out in open air the second ones. Peaceful villages, inhabited by ordinary people and devoid of any desire to fight. Little, concealed, conglomerates of Elves eager to live, hidden from their human persecutors, what of their lives has been left to them by these ones; and conglomerates of Humans eager to live their lives far from the clash of arms."

The Princess nodded. "I know."

The girl nodded in turn. "I do not know, my Princess, whether it's true what is rumoured, do not know whether it is true that, hidden to all from time immemorial, there are still Elven Kingdoms or Seigneuries, ruled by elven Kings or Lords."

A shadow passed over the Princess' face. "No one knows, my damsel. No one. Including me. Although, in my wanderings, I was looking for any of these dominions, for any of their Lords, to... to..."

The voice betrayed the Princess. How could she reveal to her new fervent damsels that she had been looking for one of those elven Lords, who perhaps, not to say almost for sure, existed only in fantasy, to raise him to the rank of her Prince, regardless of what her heart had wanted the moment she would meet him? To convince him to try to become the restorer of a possible renewed grandeur of the Elves in exchange... in exchange for her?

How could she reveal to them such an absurd and… and humiliating dream?

She was for them the Wandering Princess, the Princess who had not surrendered nor would succumb to fate, the Wandering Princess able to elude, for years, the preponderant forces of the Humans who wanted her. Dead or alive. She was not for them the Wandering Princess willing to humble herself in exchange for something that was nothing more than a crazy dream.

The slave girl said nothing. Nor even less, her companion.

Had they understood something? Had they got wind of something? Really hard to believe, but certainly the uneasy shadow that had darkened the face of the Princess had not gone unnoticed, as did the fact that her voice had failed her.

And for the two girls, by now, it did not matter to know things that their Princess would not or could not say.

For the two of them, it was her who mattered. The rest… trifles. Only that. Without importance.

So nothing appeared on their faces, nothing they said or asked.

Simply, their hands squeezed with even greater force the hands of the Princess. And the voice of the human slave went back to be heard with a softness difficult to describe.

"If these hidden and ancient elven dominions exist for real somewhere in this vast land or whether they are only legend, it matters little, though, my Lady, as well as it is not important to know whether it is true or not that lonely and stray Elves - old and disconsolate warriors or nobles - are wandering through the immensity of this territory, avoiding to appear, or whether there are hidden, somewhere, remnants of the elven Seigneuries that dotted the area before, although it is likely to be so, because scant columns and squadrons of elven warriors, those same columns and squadrons targeted by the dark army of our Lord and Master, still run through the mountains and the prairies, attacking, unexpectedly and helplessly, the human warrior hordes, seeking a pointless revenge."

The elven slave-girl intervened in a grave voice. "But, in their wanderings, these columns and these squadrons of Elves can not help but find sustenance and relief and rest, from time to time. And where, if not in the villages inhabited by their breed fellows? Dispersed among them, hidden among them, but certainly not so much as to pass unnoticed to the keen eyes of the scouts of the army of our Master."

Her human companion continued. "And, then, the hapless elven village, hidden from view of the Humans or perhaps simply too insignificant to be taken into account by them, cannot escape, instead, the attack of the army of darkness."

"It swoops down on the village." The elven slave.

"It doesn't storm its inhabitants." The human slave. "It is not them, who interest our Lord."

"It's not them, who can shed blood." Her elven companion.

"But the elven warriors, hidden among them, yes. They can. And they want to do it." The human slave again. "And none of those warriors escapes. One by one they are unearthed, before any organized reaction can be put in place, not to say even merely thought."

"And..." The elven slave. Her voice cracking. "...and one by one they are deleted."

The Princess felt the horror make its way inside her. They were not rumours. No. They were not at all. They were not grim stories. Villages, peaceful and concealed elven villages, shadows of the splendour of the cities of the past… _under the lash of that being without a name!_ The voice had run, true or false it had been. And… and evidently it was at all true. Humans had not been able to discover and destroy those villages or, perhaps, they had not bothered about them that much. But the fury of that being... that one yes. That had been able. And it had befallen on them. And it rose, threatening, over any other elven built-up area, much as small and miserable and concealed this could be.

Certainly. It was true what the girl was saying; it was true that the inhabitants were spared. It was said - and evidently it was so - that only the warriors were being killed. But did this change anything? Did this change the terror of the violent assault? And the terror of seeing the elven warriors who stood among them, their breed brothers, be butchered among them... could this terror perhaps be alleviated by the thought that the fury had spared them?

The Princess' sombre thoughts were interrupted abruptly.

"But our Lord and Master does not make distinctions." It was the human girl. "Human villages can have to face the same fate of elven villages."

The voice of the elven slave overlapped with that of her companion. "These lands, my Princess, - I say things you know well - are travelled by disguised columns of elven warriors, but also by regular companies of human soldiers, as well as by gangs of human marauders. The law and order are over, with ..." The girl had to exert a great force on herself to say what she wanted to say. "... with the sunset of the Elves. And the law and order of the Humans are yet to come.

"If ever they shall come." The human girl. In a truly sombre voice. She sighed and then she went on, trying patently and with effort to lighten her tone.

"The same thing that can happen to the elven warriors finding repose in the villages of their breed fellows can also happen to the human soldiers who, in their movements, find temporary quarters at the human villages which had the misfortune of being chosen as the site of their stay, unwelcome and always violent. The human soldiers do not treat certainly with soft gloves those who for them are nothing but unwarlike, cowardly and faint-hearted Humans to whom everything can be imposed and done."

The human girl's voice got broken, as it had happened to her companion. Her memories. Her _bad_ memories. The Princess understood well.

"The dark warriors of our Lord suddenly pounce, silent and terrible, even on these villages." The elven slave again. "And to the human warriors mingled with the miserable inhabitants it happens the same thing." The girl paused to stress strongly what she was going to say. "That same thing that happens to the elven warriors mingled with the elven inhabitants of the elven villages."

"They too are tracked down, one by one, before they can oppose the slightest resistance." It was the human slave now. But her voice was no longer broken. It seemed... it seemed almost wickedly happy, now, echoing of a sort of grim satisfaction. "And they too, one by one, are deleted."

The elf-maiden looked at her companion with a strange expression, a mixture of comprehension and disapproval. Then she turned her eyes again to the Princess.

"What my companion says is absolutely true, my Lady. Our Master makes no distinction between Humans and Elves, as you see. And, therefore, whether it's elven villages, whether it's human villages, it can happen that, during these violent and lightning-quick raids that spread terror and death, it can happen… it can happen..." The voice failed the girl and, once again, her human companion came to her aid.

"The life of the warriors of our Lord and Master is a hard life, strenuously hard, always hovering on the edge of death, and... and so... it… it can happens… it can happen…"

And this time it was the human girl who was unable to give voice to what she wanted to say. So, once and for all, the elf-maiden completed the explanation. In a rushed voice and brimming with emotion. To get rid of the weight of what she and her human companion tried to say to their Princess. Once and for all.

"It can happen that our Lord and Master may decide to gratify one of his men, one of those most deserving in his judgment. And what can be for a warrior - for a man. A… a man as those who serve our Lord – the most welcome reward?"

The Princess opened wide her eyes in understanding. "A... a woman!" Her voice lowered, as her eyes narrowed. "A slave-girl!"

The two girls nodded in unison. Then the human one spoke very softly. "Just like that, my Lady. And what better opportunity than an attack on a village? Whether human or elven?"

The elven one continued with the same soft voice. "You, Princess, can surely imagine the chaotic confusion of the attack. And you can surely imagine how it can be at all possible that, in that chaotic confusion, a girl can have the misfortune to find herself at the mercy of the assailants."

The Princess saw both girls close their eyes. They were remembering. They were reliving.

The terror. The Anguish.

Screams. Weepings. Desperate calls. Confusion. Chaos.

And death.

Its smell.

And the smell of blood.

She could see them. She _saw_ them.

Perfectly.

As if she had been there, along with them.

Alone. Helpless. Defenceless.

Terrified.

In the midst of violence. Among the screams. Among the death-rattles of dying people.

In the face of those silent and deadly human aggressors.

In front of their misshapen, beastly, dark, black lord.

The Princess bent her torso, leaned toward the two girls. Her hands left their hands and ran to their faces.

In a mild caress.

The two girls opened their eyes.

They saw the eyes of their Princess watching them.

Softly. Tenderly.

And they heard her voice. Soft and tender.

"So, this way, does it happen, therefore, that there are slave-girls here? This..." The princess hesitated. Her hands caressed again, gently, the faces of the two girls. "... this is what happened to you two?"

It was the human slave who spoke in a small voice. "We've been judged comely enough to serve the purpose."

"And ..." The Princess swallowed. "... and you've been offered as a reward."

The voice of the human maiden rose again, louder. Almost proud. Almost eager to show pride.

"I belong to the chief of the archers of our Lord!"

It was as she wanted to bestow dignity to herself, as she were saying... _I'm a slave. But a slave judged worthy of belonging to a man out of the ordinary._

And the same pride rang in her next words. Well articulated words.

Her companion of slavery was no less than her! The two of them were the most worthy damsels for their Princess! This, she wanted to convey! And she succeeded perfectly!

"My elven companion belongs to the chief of the infantrymen of our Lord. The backbone of his troops, as well as archers are the elite."

Then her voice lowered. The pride vanished. She had to present to the Princess the stark reality. "And with us our masters act as they see fit."

Her elven companion spoke in turn, with a faint voice. She gave concrete form to the facts. In the way they were. "Each slave-girl is subject to the absolute will of her master, without prejudice to the superior will of our Lord and master, because obviously, it goes without saying, he holds however the most absolute power over each slave-girl, as well as on each of his men. But, given this for granted, the will of those to whom we belong is our will. I'm subject to the absolute will of my master. My companion to the absolute will of her master. You, my Lady... "

The slave-girl's voice trailed off.

The sorrowful voice of Princess finished for her. "I am subject to the absolute will of my master."

The two slave-girls both nodded, ruefully. Then, the elven one took gently the Princess' hand, still resting motionless and soft on her face.

"My Princess..." Gently, softly. Watching her Princess with the most sweet and sympathetic gaze. "It could not but be so. Or..." Her voice betrayed her for a moment. "...or dead or his slave. His. Of him. One and only one can be the master of Princess Alel."

The voice of the human slave-girl was heard again, low and sorrowful, as her hand, too, took that of the Princess, just as her companion had already done.

"He has taken you for himself, my Lady. This time he took a reward for himself. He has taken you. You... you're consecrated to the absolute will of our Lord and Master."

Those words - exactly the same words - flourished by their own free will on the lips of the Princess.

She repeated them softly, with low eyes, almost to want to fully capture their bitter taste, as if to convince herself of their unappealable significance.

"I am consecrated to the absolute will of our Lord and Master."

She lifted her gaze, looking intently ahead, without watching anything.

She knew. She had already said. She'd even said to him. To her Master.

But she had never said it, with such a searing awareness, with such a cruel brutality, to herself.

"Of _my_ Lord and Master."

There was a long moment of silence.

The thoughts hovered.

They loomed.

Then, suddenly, the human girl jumped up.

She looked with flaming eyes at the Princess, yet sitting in total surprise, with her stunned face turned up to the girl, like the one, equally astounded, of the other slave-girl.

"Princess!" It was almost a scream. "I do not know if concealed elvish power areas really still exist!" The girl stopped, then resumed speaking fervently. "What I know is that even if it's now before everyone's eyes that kingdoms or cities ruled and populated by Elves no longer make proudly show of themselves in these lands, that albeit even the elvish kingdom of kingdoms in the end disappeared…"

Abruptly, the maiden stopped, realizing what she was saying. Her gaze remained wide open on the Princess' visage.

It was her, the Princess, who gave form to the unsaid. " _My_ kingdom." A breath, infinitely sad, of voice, as she lowered her head.

A heavy silence fell again. But it was brief. The elf-maiden broke it. Just she. And she did it heatedly.

She had sensed what her companion wanted to arrive at. She had sensed, not only because of the underground consonance that there was now between her and her human slavery fellow, but above all because it was what she herself thought. What she had perceived, as well as her companion.

"Princess, perhaps the bright splendour of the Elves is over, and badly, to let way to the sombre splendour of the Humans." Her eyes watched expressive the Princess." But perhaps. Just perhaps. Because there you still are, my Lady. Slave. And okay. And so be it. But you still exist. You're here. You're alive. And my companion - a Human - recognizes, she too, that you are the…"

The human slave intervened ardently, overlapping, in her passion, her words with the words of her companion. "The hope of a better future, my Lady! This you're! And not only for the Elves, but for Humans as well! You ... " For the first time, clearly, the girl's voice gave shape and substance to what until then had remained as unexpressed, as hinted. "...you have the power to make our... our soulless Lord something... something... different!"

The girl kept quiet a moment, her gaze locked in that of the Princess. Then she continued more calmly.

"We could not believe our eyes, my Lady. His arms crush. They give death, not shelter. But you, my Lady, you were sustained up in his arms. And you were wrapped in his cloak. Protected by it."

The girl's voice became a whisper resonant of awe and wonder. "No woman ever has been protected by his cloak. None. Except you."

Then, the slave girl fell silent, her eyes engrossed and astonished, her expression bewildered. Bewildered for what she had just said. It was... was too big, what she had said. It could not be asserted with such vividness. Maybe her words should have been not even said. It was a desire. A desire. Yes. They were this. Nothing more.

Or... or maybe... a lot more.

A hope. An absurd hope.

This they were.

The Princess looked into the eyes of the girl.

Her brain was whirling.

Her soul floundered.

Was lost in the swirl of her thoughts.

Her... her effulgence and authority, as the supreme Princess of elven people, along with _his_ cunning and _his_ strength.

Who could resist?

A common path. For Elves and Humans.

 _His_ command and _her_ right to command.

Together.

To... to change the world.

Could it be?

Perhaps it… it could. If she ... if she...

If she had let her heart...

Oh Gods! Oh Gods!

What had she ever done?

WHAT HAD SHE EVER DONE?!

He... he was what he was... but... but... she could change him.

SHE COULD CHANGE HIM!

IT WAS NOT IMPOSSIBLE! NO!

HE... HE COULD BE DIFFERENT FROM WHAT HE WAS! HE _**WANTED**_ TO BE DIFFERENT FROM WHAT HE WAS!

HE HAD SEARCHED IN HER... HE HAD SEARCHED IN HER WHAT HE HAD ALWAYS BEEN DENIED!

TO CHANGE! TO SHED HIS SKIN!

TO BE WHAT HE COULD HAVE BEEN! IF WORLD AND FATE HADN'T MADE HIM WHAT HE WAS!

The Princess' heart swelled with a pain that took her breath away.

 _What he could have been…_

 _If she had let her heart..._

Oh Gods! OH GODS! **OH GODS!**

Unable to sit still, the Princess jumped up.

The blanket slipped down revealing her shining nakedness.

Breathing laboriously, she turned, under the astonished gaze of the two slave-girls.

There. It was there. On the ground. The skirt. The gorgeous skirt made of nothing.

Made of nothing.

But gorgeous.

Gorgeous.

But made of nothing.

She realized. Completely. In full.

She realized what was that skirt!

Her voice rose. Feeble. A lament.

"I know what it means, this precious skirt. Precious and wondrous. And short. And... and devoid of... of panties! Made... to let see!"

She paused, chewing her woe. "Of no use to conceal aught."

She turned around, towards the two slaves.

Her eyes watched them.

Two marvellous green eyes. Marvellous. And sad and sore.

"I know why there is nothing else but this insubstantial skirt to pretend to cover me."

The Princess raised weakly her hand in air in a dejected gesture, then she turned around again.

She didn't want her damsels to be able to see them.

Them.

The tears that welled up in her eyes.

Tears of disconsolateness.

For her fate. Sure. For what she had become. Of course. For the misery that her life would be. Certainly.

But all these were puny and flimsy reasons in comparison with the real reason.

The real reason. The one that was concealed in that skirt unable to conceal.

That skirt.

That had made collapse in a moment all the castle of cards of lies that obtusely and obstinately she had committed herself to build inside herself.

That had led her, had forced her, to stop lying to the world and to herself. To admit the truth.

And it was a bitter, a disheartening, a distressing truth. A truth that the two slave-girls, without knowing to do so, had brought in bright light.

The Princess raised weakly her arms. She buried her face in her hands.

She felt cold.

And her being naked had nothing to do with the cold she felt.

 _She..._ the salt of her tears wetted her lips... _she'd had him and she had lost him._

 _And she had lost him by her own fault._

There had been in him a spark of warmth. For her. A powerful spark. So much as to be capable of flaring up into a flame which... which could warm her up forever.

But she had suppressed that spark.

She had prevented the spark from turning into the flame.

And, so, he...

He had returned to be what he was. The Nameless One. The cold-hearted Nameless One.

The implacable Nameless One.

The _evil_ Nameless One.

Sentenced to be who he was.

Sentenced by Nature, by Humans, by Elves. And even... and even by her!

And he was saying it to her. Clearly and plainly. In no uncertain terms.

By means of that skirt.

That skirt which meant... which meant...

She thought she heard his voice, rough and sarcastic, speak to her, tell her...

 _[Do not think you have tricked me and do not think of tricking yourself, Princess.]_

It was tremendous, that harsh and bitter voice in her brain. Tremendous! Intolerable!

 _[You have surrendered to my blackmail because you have wanted to surrender to my blackmail. You, by your will, have wanted to be taken by me. You, by your will, have wanted to be mine. You, by your will, have wanted to give me yourself.]_

 **Intolerable!**

 _[But then you have rejected me. You have repulsed me. You have cast me away.]_

 **INTOLERABLE!**

 _[Oh sure. I see. I'm a beast, with the face of a beast and the heart of a beast. Indeed, without a heart, as well as without a soul. Why should the beautiful and noble Princess that you are think of wanting a beast as I am?]_

 **IN… INTOLERABLE!**

 _[I understand your reluctance, your obstinate stubbornness to refuse to see what you know, what you know well, my sweet Princess. I understand very well.]_

It was a hammer inside her head, that voice!

 _[My hands... no, my only hand, the only one I was left with after the affectionate and caring attentions of your breed fellows... is filthy with blood, and it matters little if it is the blood of those who have reduced me to be a beast inside more than I am out. It matters little if I'm what my loving Mother Nature and my human brothers and my saviours, the Elves shining with wisdom, have reduced me to be.]_

A pitiless hammer!

 _[And what ever can it matter, in front of evil that is in me, that I rage on those whose hands ooze blood as mine does, that I don't suck away the lives of those whose hands are clean?]_

Enough! ENOUGH!

 _[Small thing, this, I understand, in the face of terror I arouse in these innocent souls. Not much different, actually, from the terror elicited in them by the Elves of the night and by the grim human warriors and by the bloodthirsty gangs of human bandits. But, can you compare? Who of them can boast a muzzle of beast like mine? Who of them can boast of being as horribly different as I am? I arouse not only terror, I arouse revulsion.]_

Shut up, goddamn voice! Shut up! **SHUT UP!**

 _[It matters little the why I am what I am. It matters little if my fury of unclean beast doesn't strike indiscriminately everything and everyone. It matters little, all that. Indeed, in truth it matters nothing. Less than nothing. What matters is that I am a beast. A foul beast. A soulless beast.]_

 **Shut up! SHUT UP!**

She... she couldn't bear it!

 _[And there can not be, there must not be room in your heart for a foul beast and soulless like I am.]_

She couldn't bear it! **Couldn't bear the pounding truth of that voice!**

 _[Even if your heart wants it.]_

 **The truth! This was the truth! The veritable truth!**

His voice... his voice. Hard and cruel as his face. His voice... uncannily bewitching, as his face, wounded and sorrowful… of beast.

Yes, that was his voice...

Thus, in this way, that voice would have spoken. **So it was speaking**!... relentless, inside her brain!

Thus, it was laughing and sneering… sardonic and bitter… inside her soul!

That damn ruthless voice! That voice that said...

 _[So then, my Princess, be it so. I have already said it and I repeat it now, even more so, because you have made me understand, finally beyond any possible doubt…]_

 **Oh no, no! NO! Please no!**

 _[…that there is no hope for me.]_

 **Please! NO!**

 _[The Nature... the Humans... The Elves... And now…]_

 **Oh no, no!** **NO! NO NO NO! Please no!** **Do not say it! Do not let me hear this!**

 _[Now you too.]_

 **NO!**

 _[I am the Nameless One. The ruthless. The marauder. The murderer.]_

 **OH NO!**

 _[The soulless. The heartless.]_

 **NO NO!**

 _[The beast.]_

 **NO!**

 _[To whom everything is denied.]_

 **NOOO!**

 _[Everything.]_

 **Oh gods! Oh gods! Oh gods! That voice!**

 _[Except hatred.]_

 **THAT VOICE!**

 _[So then, this I shall be.]_

 **THAT VOICE!**

 _[I shall be what I am.]_

 **THAT VOICE!**

 **And... and... and that eye! That that gorgeous eye of him.**

It seemed to her to see it. She could see it!

 **She saw it!**

She saw it watching her. Bleak and hard.

And sad. And bitter.

She saw that eye that looked so, while… while that mouth, that mouth of beast… that mouth which knew… which knew how to kiss so well… was opening up, was revealing its fang-teeth, to talk again...

To say to her... to say...

 _[And you shall be for me what you yourself have condemned you to be.]_

 **Oh no! Oh no! OH NO!**

 _[Wear this skirt, my Princess. Wear this skirt.]_

 **I beg you, I beg you please! Do not say it!**

 _[Wear the emblem and substance of what you'll be for me.]_

 **Please! PLEASE!**

 _[Of what you've sentenced you to be for me.]_

 **I beg you! I implore!**

 _[You, who could have been my Princess.]_

 **Do not say it! DO NOT SAY IT!**

 _[Who could have given again me a soul.]_

The gloomiest silence fell in the mind of the Princess.

The void.

Dark. In her soul.

There was no longer that rough voice.

That voice… which had roared mighty into her ears, in the night, as he was taking possession of her.

There was no longer that face of wounded beast.

That face…. which had been so tense in the longing for her.

There was no longer that blue eye.

That eye… which had burned with passion for her.

They… they there would have been nevermore.

She...

She had erased them forever!

And how could she not cry?

How could her eyes not fill with tears?

Those tears, those tears in her eyes, were the disconsolate weeping of her heart.

Which had deluded itself.

Of her mind.

Which had understood.

Of her soul.

Which was feeling lost.

This were those tears, that she did not want to let see.

But those tears... they couldn't but be seen. They could be seen without being seen.

In the trembling of her voice.

Feeble and muffled.

From under her hands, still covering her face and getting moistened, now, of those bitter tears.

"Our Lord and Master... my Lord and Master... the master of my life and my honour... will be well happy to find me thus, wearing this skirt made of nothing. And nothing else. When he will return to the tent of my captivity. To… reassert his full domination over me. In the way…"

She alone could know what those words really meant, the true meaning of the anguish they bore in themselves. But it was impossible not to sense that anguish.

"…in the way that is proper to him."

So she spoke. These were her words. But, inside her, others were the words.

 _*... in the way that I let him return to be.*_

Others.

 _*The Nameless One.*_

OTHERS!

 _*The beast.*_

 **OTHERS!**

 _*The beast without name and without soul that, callously and cruelly and unmercifully, Nature and Humans and Elves and… and I… have forced him to be.*_

No. It was impossible not to perceive such an agony.

Oh Gods! **Oh Gods!**

What had she ever done?

 **WHAT HAD SHE EVER DONE?!**

* * *

 _ **End of Chapter Thirty-two**_

 _ **TBC**_

 **oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo**

 **oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo**

 _ **What had she ever done?**_


	33. The Ears of the Elves - Chapter 33

**The Ears of the Elves**

 **By Asso**

 **Chapter Thirty-three**

* * *

 _Love is a mess._

 _Wonderful, though._

* * *

 **The Ears of the Elves**

 **Chapter Thirty-three**

 **oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo**

 **oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo**

* * *

"Well, now do not overdo it, Princess! Our friend, the Nameless One, could even strive, at least a bit, to be a little less the 'Nameless One'! It is not that the faults have to necessarily be all yours, honey!"

T'Pol was abruptly shaken by Trip's voice. Maybe she would also have wanted to say something, but it was not allowed her to do so.

"And you, T'Pol, but how the heck did you manage to prevent you from being overwhelmed by the pathos... yes, that's right, just like you said... by the pathos... no, even more!... how... how the hell could you have let you be dragged in such an ignoble pa..."

T'Pol raised sharply her head and twisted it, while lifting her eyebrow, so as to be able to watch Trip in the face, even if quite on the bias and with some difficulty. "Ignoble?"

Two blue eyes and angry - and moist - looked at her. "Ignoble, yes! It's... it's ignoble to make suffer the reader in this way! It is unfair, here!"

Begrudgingly, T'Pol hitched up a little bit by applying force on her elbow, making so that she could better see Trip's visage, thing which, of course, brought the blanket to slip a little down one more time, not too much, but sufficiently.

And T'Pol found herself once again with her breast in the wind.

This was enough. The Pon Farr went back to make itself alive instantly.

T'Pol felt again, suddenly, very... hot. If the function of the blanket should have been that to make her feel warm, oh well, in this case it was really nothing but an unnecessary tinsel.

And if all this was per se a problem, there was another problem, a problem in the problem. And it was that that damned of her Adun was in need at the time of... oh damn!... of... of cuddles! Yes. Just so!

There was no need of any Bond to understand what was going through his mind. He needed to be reassured. To be comforted.

To be pampered!

The Princess' anguish was such as to cause anguish to him as it were his own anguish.

His was a strong and determined soul. Sure. But also very sensitive, as to appear even fragile, sometimes, and for things that other people would have not even perceived. Another of those wonderful contradictions of him, which made him even more captivating to T'Pol's heart.

But, after all, wasn't it for her the same thing? Wasn't he right, perhaps, in saying to her that the stronger strength she was capable of showing was the strength to reveal herself to him in her frailty? In her vulnerability?

Oh sure, he was damn right! And when she had finally realized how good it was and rewarding showing herself to him in all her vulnerability and frailty so as to find in him a strength superior to any other strength… well, at last, at that precise moment, for her... for her the gates of heaven had opened wide! Just like that! So he would have said. And once again he would have been absolutely right on the mark!

Now it was his turn. He was showing her his own vulnerability. His _peculiar_ vulnerability.

He was distressed for a distress that was all in the pages of a fairy tale.

Of a story.

As much as that story were... well, yes, now it was clear ... the fictionalized - but perhaps not that much - chronicle of a harsh and truly happened reality.

Was there to remain surprised? To remain dumbfounded? To think he was behaving laughably? As she had thought, without understanding anything of him, without comprehending but, at the same time, undergoing - and disconcerted it could be so - the charm of his boyish naivety, a naivety so pristine as to be bewitching, when she had seen his way of reacting in watching the movies?

She remembered well the way he reacted to the movies. He identified himself in the story and in the characters to such a point as to appear ridiculously involved, as if he was part of the story, of the fiction. And he suffered with the characters of the story, rejoiced with them, felt their fears and their anxieties.

Yeah.

Exactly so.

But that was not fiction. It was not fiction, that of the Princess. It had really happened. And the anguish she felt was real anguish and, moreover, was the anguish of her, her, T'Pol. Because the Princess was her. So then... so then how do not understand the reaction of her Adun? It was no... it was by no means, this time, a _ridiculous_ reaction, if ever such a judgment could have been fair.

He was simply doing what he always did, even without realizing it.

 _He was absorbing in himself her anguish, hers, of her, T'Pol, being the anguish of the Princess her own anguish._

Once more, he was coming to her aid, diverting upon himself fears which could hurt her.

Because now she knew. She knew that she and the Princess were virtually the same person. And... and she, this time, would not have been able to counter the anguish she had felt - because it was so - when she had read on her own the fable. And it was not that she had succeeded all that much even then!

Now, however, it would have been much, much worse.

Now, to the anguish in itself of the story and of the Princess it was being added the anguish of her awareness that the two of them were the same person and that their anguish was the same anguish. And... and, as if that were not enough, even the anguish of knowing, on her part - on the part of her, her, T'Pol - something that the Princess could not know already.

 _The Princess could not know how... how it would have gone to end! The way the Nameless One would have redeemed himself!_

But she - she T'Pol - now she knew. Before, when she had read the fable alone, no, she did not know. But now, yes. Now she knew. And she... and she also knew... she knew, now, that the Nameless One was her Trip!

How not to die of anguish in reading - in living! - once again the anguish of the Princess? How not to do it, now that she knew everything she knew?

And yet...

Yet she was not succumbing to that anguish.

How was it possible?

Simple.

Because there was him.

Him. Her wonderful Adun. Her personal barrier against all evil that might afflict her.

Did he realize what he was doing at that time? No, perhaps no.

For him it was natural.

It was natural to protect her in any way.

Even in that _ridiculous_ way.

Even coming to ask for her help - unconsciously, but maybe not exactly so - to fight an anguish that was _her_ anguish.

Thoughts, thoughts, thoughts. Tumultuous, rapid, difficult to grasp in their essence, in their entirety.

Thoughts.

Impalpable, insubstantial.

But the last one... the last one...

The eyes of a wonder woven of happiness opened wide in T'Pol's katra.

But what she would have done without him?

And... and how could she deny him the help he was asking her so as, ultimately, to help her?

She certainly could not deny him the... cuddles!

But... but...

 _Oh, for Surak's sake! How could she do?_

Not that she disliked doing to him the cuddles! Far from it! Since the first moment she had succumbed to his impudently stated desire to receive cuddles from her and... ahem - to her undeclared desire to administer them to him, she had learned with... oh, hum... with not little satisfaction that it was not at all bad to pamper. **(*)** Him, obviously. And that… well, let's face it… and that it was even more gratifying being pampered. By him, more than obviously.

But… oh damn!... the Pon Farr! Not yet disruptive, agree! But... but not for this ... not for this...

How… how could a poor vulcan female be in the mood to snuggle with that damned Pon Farr that increasingly claimed its rights?

Not to mention that hand of him, that hand pleasantly locked between her thighs, at an extremely dangerously short distance from the fulcrum of her heat!

A molehill and, considering the mood that her Adun was showing at that time, that hand, dragged by his distinguishing way of doing, wouldn't have thought twice to act like crazy. Driving crazy her.

Eh sure! Because the fact was that her T'hai'la spoke not only with the voice, but with his whole body, starting from his face - from its countless expressions - and ending with his hands. Especially with his hands. His hands were in the habit of translating his words into gestures.

To be honest, all this didn't mind at all to her. It was part of him, so she had ended up loving also this of him.

Nevertheless... at that time...

It was enough simply that that hand was moving just a little. Anything. An unmeant squeeze to her flesh, a small approach to the danger zone… and, voila, the game was done!

And in this case... how was it?... goodnight to the musicians! Other than pampering! Quite another thing would have been what she would do to him! For the second time in that so peculiar and intimate night! Passing over in silence the previous… warm-ups, anything but... devoid of substance.

Not that there was anything wrong and T'Pol had no doubt that, even without having had much time to regain in toto his vigour, he would have quite appreciated a further… match. Her Adun wasn't at all bad in such things. Not that she had any touchstone, he was the first and the only one for her, and such it would have been forever. But... well... he seemed to never get tired! There was really to think that when her Pon Farr had been at its peak she would not have to struggle then that much to infuse in him the required forcefulness! And, in front of the astonishment, impossible to disguise, that she inevitably showed for his… performances, he, at her question - unsaid, but not for this less manifest - invariably told her with a sly grin that no man could ever feel tired with her and, laughing, then he cautioned her against any idea on her part to verify the truthfulness of such an assertion. After which, as she tried to repress a smile, they, if circumstances permitted, invariably began again.

No. Nothing wrong. And nothing impossible.

But... his face, his eyes, his expression, his words themselves ... everything indicated that, in that moment, he was looking for something that could relieve the anguish he felt in reading the desperation of the Princess. Which, in the last analysis, meant that he was asking her to give him what he needed to soothe the anguish that she could undoubtedly feel if she'd not rushed to his aid with the necessary cuddles! Restoring his balance meant preserving her own balance!

And, just like icing on the cake, surely it had not to be forgotten that it was her duty to meet his needs, just as he did with her!

So? What to do?

Well, if someone can yet put forward doubts about the willpower of Vulcans, this someone can not but be completely unaware of the tremendous effort that T'Pol had to exert on herself - succeeding in doing it - to prevent that hand from being sucked in the vortex of her heat!

Which would have deferred the cuddles at an undefined time of the near future.

T'Pol's actions were a well-architected succession of instinctive and yet carefully thought acts.

As her thighs clutched Trip's hand in an immobilizing vise - and not without a consequent increasing of her inner turmoil - the hand of T'Pol that was in condition to do it ran to his altered face. It alighted gently on his cheek, while she writhed in such a way that she could not lose her nice position, putting herself at the same time so as not to be forced to twist her neck more than the due to be able to see him easily in the face. And to do to him the cuddles. With her hand. And with the softness of her voice. And of her gaze. And, obviously, with her words. Without forgetting that touch of irony - she had by now learned to make good use of it - that so much he liked. Unthinkable to cuddle him without cajoling at the same time his playful and snidely irreverent spirit.

"Ashayam, may I remind you that the perpetrators of this pathos, it seems, it's us? Us two?"

"Shit! It must have been my fault! For sure! It must have been me to let me get carried away!"

T'Pol ignored Trip's colourful exclamation. "Or the one who influenced me so much as to bring me to let me get carried away."

"Huh?"

"Would you deny, my Lord, that you exert a tremendous influence over me?"

"Well... no... of course. But you too ..."

"Me too, of course, over you. But I think you do not want to deny that your influence over me is slightly... more overbearing."

"T'Pol, what can I say? I'm sorry. I..."

"You have nothing to be sorry, my Lord. It was a compliment."

"A... compliment?"

"My Lord…" T'Pol stopped abruptly, then resumed and her voice sounded almost bashful, but also, simultaneously, contented. "Ashayam, I have to admit that I... that I love letting me be overwhelmed by your influence over me."

"Oh? Uh, well..."

"Not too much vulcan, this, right my Lord?"

"Well, actually..."

"But it's really beautiful. And then... you know... you say it so often! ... I am a very special Vulcan."

Trip, at that point, could not help but smile. "Fortunately for me, vulcan baby doll."

"And mine, damn Human of an Adun."

Trip laughed. "Yes, definitely I exert a discreet influence over you!"

"Definitely, my damn husband. So, nothing to be surprised, if I liked to immerse myself in the pathos of this fable. And ..." T'Pol sighed, while her long and delicate eyelashes flapped, embellishing her with an expression that made Trip's heart gallop. "... do not believe, T'hai'la, I haven't felt overwhelmed."

"You've felt...?"

T'Pol heaved a deep sigh. "Ashayam, I didn't know - you hadn't yet enlightened my mind - that I was the Princess, but..." T'Pol closed her eyes and put down her forehead on Trip's chest. "...but I couldn't help but recognize my errors in the errors of her."

Her lips caressed his chest. It was not easy to do so, without giving in to her desire, but she had to. It was right for her to do it. It was necessary.

It was not simply a matter of pampering.

It was an acknowledgment that she owed him.

It was a profession of love.

She could have trouble pronouncing that noun, even though she had already done it. But she had no difficulty to recognize its profound essence; and its inestimable value. And to make it intimately hers.

"I have risked losing you again and again, because of my stupid blindness. As the Princess did with the Nameless One."

"Well, sweetie. It's not that she can not claim some valid reason. I admit I am not precisely a pearl, but the Nameless One, as much as he can be me..."

The words, ironic and irreverent, as always they were when Trip had to face an annoying situation, died on his lips.

T'Pol had suddenly lifted her head and was watching him with open eyes.

Two stars.

Resplendent.

Enamoured.

"The Princess, my K'diwa, has just realized the mistake she has made. She is still struggling in despair. She is not even yet able to think of a way out, to think whether it is possible to remedy her huge blunder."

T'Pol closed her eyes again and went back down, to snuggle on top of Trip

"I've got it made, my beloved." Her soft voice was woven of dreams. "Thanks to you, I've got it made."

Her lips kissed gently his skin. The fire between her thighs began to burn like never before, but she managed with a terrible effort to counter it. This was not the time.

"I straightened out my mistake. I followed my heart in the end."

T'Pol's head rose again. Her starry eyes fastened on Trip's blue eyes. "And I will follow it always and forever." Her head went back down, as her eyes shut themselves slowly again and she regained in full the portentous position of before, apart from the blanket, that remained quietly rather down, on the sidelines. "Because always and forever it will lead me to you, Ashayam."

And at those words, whispered in a warm sigh, any possible residual distress of Trip faded completely. T'Pol felt it clearly. In the sweetness of his embrace. In the quiet strength of his arm around her shoulder.

Very well. She had succeeded. She had managed to make disappear his reflected anguish.

It had cost her a tremendous effort to fight victoriously the desire she felt ignite in her again. Damn! But how the hell would have the craving been that she would feel when her Pon Farr would become uncontrollable? She knew it, was aware of this. But one thing was to have a reported and bookish knowledge, another thing was to experience it!

T'Pol realized. She realized as never before.

Her Trip… her Adun…

Really he was her lifeline. On him, on his strength and his balance, on his careful and loving guide, and only on that, she could rely so that she could emerge safe and sound from the destructive flame of her Pon Farr!

At that thought, in T'Pol's mind it was as if the eye of the most total consciousness were being opened wide of a sudden.

Her tumultuous thoughts, the thoughts that had troubled her mind until a few moments ago, adjusted themselves completely. They took order and coherence.

The balance of her Trip had been restored. And she felt at peace.

Could there possibly be a better demonstration of the goodness of what she had done?

Certainly, her effort had been huge, even if equally huge it had been the satisfaction of seeing him again quiet.

But, above all, apart from the fact that she had done nothing but tell the purest truth and apart from the fact that she loved to cuddle him, although less than how she liked to be pampered by him, she couldn't absolutely run the risk that he could remain in distress all that much!

And how would she do?

How would she do if such a thing had happened?

It was certainly not only for the Pon Farr that she had absolute need of him! She needed him, always and in any case... and not just because he had stolen her heart, just as he would have said. She needed him, and a "him" balanced and in hold of himself, because... because the not at all tacit rule was that it had to be him to be the refuge for her troubles! In him and through him they melted like snow in the sun!

' _Restoring his balance meant preserving her own balance!'_ So she had nebulously thought just before.

Oh, how much true this was!

How much true it was that his balance meant her own balance!

 _That in his balance resided her balance!_

He could even afford the luxury of being what he was, and, just because of that - oh damn! What a muddle! - to be loved by her. But he could not possibly afford the luxury of not being the support point of her.

And therefore… T'Pol found herself almost like chuckling to herself. _His influence! His damn influence, dammit!_... therefore anything to make it so that he couldn't derail. Just as she had done now. Regardless of the pleasure that she had experienced in doing so.

She absolutely had to preserve him well intact for her own health!

Egoistical? Well... yes!

But - for Surak's sake! - he had to pay some scot for having made her fall in love so madly!

One could not expect to win the heart of a vulcan female - _her_ heart! - without thinking of having to somehow pay the penalty!

He had reduced her to being completely in his hands! He had reduced her to being happy to be completely in his hands!

He had to pay something for what he had done!

Although... ahem... although she was happy that he had done it.

Oh dear! Really! What a tangle she had become!

Or... or maybe she had always been. And perhaps now, and not before, just thanks to him, she could see the skein that she was and attempt to disentangle it little by little.

Or maybe, and much more simply, it was that once again he was right.

This was quite simply…

That thing... that wonderful thing beyond compare…

That… mess…

 _This was quite simply love._

* * *

 _ **End of Chapter**_ ** _Thirty-three_**

 _ **TBC**_

 **oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo**

 **oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo**

 _Yes, love is a wonderful mess._

 _T'Pol understood it._

 _And the Princess?_

 _Well, let's wait and see, my friends, let's wait and see._

 _Of course, we must not forget that she is, in embryo, exactly T'Pol._

 **oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo**

 **oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo**

 **(*)** _Of course. Just like that. T'Pol has had to figure out since that time how difficult it is, if not impossible, to escape the grip of the "Human Mood", in particular of the '' Human Mood "of her Trip. Do not you believe it, my friends? Well, then, if you like, have a look at my story "Human Mood"._


	34. The Ears of the Elves - Chapter 34

**The Ears of the Elves**

 **By Asso**

 **Chapter Thirty-four**

* * *

 _Similitudes._

 _Or, better, identities._

* * *

 **The Ears of the Elves**

 **Chapter Thirty-four**

 **oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo**

 **oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo**

* * *

Trip's voice shook T'Pol.

His _habitual_ voice. Ironic. Almost mocking.

For Surak! So it was fine! Yes. Just fine.

She had done quite a good job. Her usual Trip, the one able to absorb in himself all her anxieties and all her fears, was back in front line. Fully operative.

Good. Very good. She was safe, now.

But what was it saying, that irreverent voice? _Bollocks?_ What did it mean "bollocks"? Of course, knowing him and certainly no one knew him... ahem... as she did, it didn't have to be a vocable definable as… perfectly polite.

T'Pol raised an eye sideways to look at Trip. "Bollocks?"

Trip grinned. "Ah, you're awake, then?"

T'Pol's eyebrow rose. "Did I give you the impression I were sleeping, my Lord?"

Trip's grin became a sardonic chuckle. "For heaven's sake, what a fool! And to think I know very well that Vulcans never sleep! Mh... I mean... that they are attentive even when they seem to sleep."

T'Pol suppressed a grunt. Just like that. A grunt. Which, of vulcan style, had really nothing. But Trip caught it anyway and the sardonic chuckle became a frank laugh. "Excuse me, excuse me, vulcan doll! I did not mean to offend you! You know how I'm made!"

Yeah. T'Pol knew. But had she really done well to get him back to be in full her Trip?

She lowered her eyebrow.

But sure that she had done well! In the thought that had popped in her mind, the possessive, that _"her",_ had appeared of its own volition. And so it was. That was _her_ Trip. And she wanted him so, in the way he was. Irrespective of any more or less egoistical consideration that that was the Trip who was her personal bulwark of salvation.

That. Was. Her. Trip.

And she wanted him so.

And full stop.

Why ever it were to be so, it was something that transcended any logical explanation, indeed even any illogical explanation, but from a long while T'Pol had stopped wondering the why of such a fact.

Things stood so. Full stop, once again. And since she had surrendered to the evidence, logical or illogical it was, merely settling for enjoying without many questions the pleasure she felt in tasting his way of being, the world, to quote him, had turned coloured with pink.

And if then she was allowed, as now, to bask in his arms and in his intoxicating smell, the smell that had claimed her without appeal from the very first moment she had perceived it... **(*)** well then, it was the whole universe to get coloured with pink.

His teasing voice called her back again to life.

"I just wanted to tease you a little. You were so engrossed as to seem lost in your thoughts, but apparently something of what I told you brought you back among the living." Trip chortled. "I seem to understand that it is that word, right, girl? That _'bollocks'_ ".

He chuckled again. "However, seemingly, it was not enough. If I were to say, little doll, you're giving me the impression of being plunged back into dreamland." Again he chortled. "Oh, I'm mistaken, I'm mistaken, I know. An impression, as you said, only an impression."

T'Pol suppressed a grunt again. Or at least she tried. And, to tell the truth, she was not at all sure she had succeeded.

She sought to compose herself. She pulled up the blanket and... well, she could not say that her voice sounded exactly convincing, but all in all... well, yeah... better than nothing. "Arguably it's the cold. Logical to think it benumbs me a little."

"Ah here."

"However do not believe I have not grasped what you said, Husband."

Oh oh! Husband! And in that tone!

Trip smiled to himself.

Well, sure. His lovely de facto vulcan wifey was always annoyed, and not a little, to be caught out; and if, in addition, the reason was that she had failed - because lost in who knows which meanderings of her mind (very very little vulcan, this, isn't it?) - in her ability to be always attentive and self-aware, as a genuine Vulcan had to be and as it had clearly happened in that juncture... well, in that case, the annoyance became authentic irritation. Not to say huff. Not to say anger. And an even more furious anger since necessarily in the need to be stifled. Eh sure! The aforementioned wifey was a vulcan female, thing not to be forgotten. Eh no! Absolutely not!

And try to guess who was ineluctably called to pay for the consequences!

But not always, however. Sometimes the knife blade could not be sunk with impunity in the sacrificial victim, as much the aforesaid sweet vulcan wifey could be definitely proficient to overturn the omelette.

As in the present circumstance.

Trip's voice was suave. "Oh yes?"

"Of course."

"Ah. And what did I say?"

"You said..." T'Pol stopped abruptly. Damn! But what Surak was she doing? She had not grabbed anything of what he had said! Anything! Except that word! And now? How could she tell him that, of all he had said, she had grasped just that word? She couldn't, obviously! But… but how could she do to get off the hook?

 _Oh for Surak's sake! His damned colloquialisms!_

The penetrance of his colloquialisms inside her was the straw that broke the camel. She could not bear to be closed in the corner, in no case. And by him, then, to fill the measure! Less than ever! He… he could have all the reasons in the world and maybe it was even childish that she reacted so, but however it was... it was intolerable, here!

Already he had permitted himself to… to make her fall like a pear at his feet! Could he be allowed also to prevail over her?

Haughty and confident, her voice rose. "I can't think that my wise Husband and Lord can be willing to waste worthless time just to hear be repeated by his respectful wife what he knows he has said."

"Oh sure, sure. Your wise Husband and Lord hasn't the slightest intention to do such a thing. Which sort of utility could this have? Completely illogical even for a Human, as I am. Clearly your attention has ended up focusing wholly on that term. Bollocks. Quite understandable, of course, given your… scientific curiosity. The problem is all here."

T'Pol shifted uncomfortably between Trip's arms. Well, not a great thing, needless to say, but at least the appearances were saved and, most importantly, she had someway managed to avoid confessing openly that, lost in thought, she had not grasped a jot of what he had said, except that word.

She didn't even dream to lift her head and spoke with great humility. He did not seem to want to rage on her. Better not go too far. It would have been very difficult, if not impossible, to change the cards on the table, as he would have said. Better, much better, grabbing with obsequious dignity the lifeline that he, following her own cue, was offering to her.

And the lifeline was that word.

"Actually, my Lord, my attention was polarized very much on that word. My… scientific curiosity has been stimulated. I have not quite figured out that term. Bollocks. Strange word. Would you be so magnanimous to explain its meaning to your obsequious wife?"

Trip grinned. "It means nonsense, sweetie. Bullshits, to talk a little more starkly."

Then T'Pol clearly heard his mocking giggle. "Sure, I can understand that this term may have been such as to stand out in the context of all I said. You know _... And so all my fine reasonings crumble miserably. Bollocks. This seems to be what I've said. Just a lot of bollocks._ And I've repeated that word not one, but two times, just to put it well in prominence. _Bollo_..."

Trip broke off abruptly. "Oh! Oh sorry, sweetheart! What a fool! Without realizing it, I've unnecessarily repeated word for word everything I said! Still the same unreflective, impulsive Human!"

T'Pol took good care not to pick up the insolence of him. It was not really the case. Eh sure, because if in practice he had made it clear to her that he knew very well that she had not grasped anything of what he had said if not that word, it was also true that he had not said to her openly that he was well conscious of that and, far more importantly, he - _damn cheeky and… and wonderful of a man!_ \- had repeated all to her, in its entirety, but as if it was slipping out from his mouth unintentionally, giving her so the way to have her bacon saved.

 _Oh... oh damn! His damned colloquialisms again!_

 _And okay. There was nothing to do. She really had him totally within herself And... and very, very often not only in the figurative sense!_

With the quietest of voices, without moving even a little, she replied. And, apart from anything, she was really curious at this point.

"Why do you say that you said just… bollocks, Adun?"

"Oh well. The girl, the Princess I mean. She has finally decided to make herself a bit crafty. I mean, she finally has understood. So all my beautiful theories about the intention, albeit unconscious, on her part to push our dear friend, the Nameless One, to do what she does not want to do, which is to make him retrace his steps by making him jealous to get him out into the open... yes, ultimately, you know... _the heart that has understood and the mind that refuses to understand... and the heart that contrives the way to trick the mind..._ etc etc etc... In short, all those nice theories go straight into the drain."

T'Pol raised an eye and cast a sidelong glance at Trip. "I beg your pardon?"

Trip grinned, a little crooked. "They turn out to be senseless, my sweetie."

T'Pol lowered the eye. "Not necessarily, my too-easy-to-get-discouraged Lord. Not necessarily."

Trip looked wide-eyed at T'Pol, who didn't make the slightest move for raising her head towards him, although she perceived perfectly his gaze and his confusion.

"Not necessarily? You mean I was right? That mine weren't bollocks?"

"Apart from the fact that I seemed to have already made indirectly understand you, my perspicacious Lord, that the bollocks you're talking about are not bollocks, I have also said that anything can happen, even that you're right."

"T'Pol! Stop it! Glad, very much, really, that you've learned how to be playful and ironic, but, please, stop doing it always at my expense! "

The eye was raised again together with its related eyebrow.

"That's not correct, my Lord. In this regard and with all due respect, you're wrong. I've taken, and because of your - as you know - rather invasive influence, the not exactly vulcan habit of doing it a little with everyone. Of course ... "The eye was lowered again, placidly."... with you, I feel more taste. You do it so often with me. You know, as you would say... _he who is the cause of his ill cry himself_. "

"T'Pol! Look, I'll make you pay! "

The eye went up once more and this time in the company of its twin. And both quizzically. But also amused and pleased.

And T'Pol had every reason. The broad smile of Trip's mouth was a whole program. The most suitable smile to his words. "Remember where I have my hand, my girl."

The answer came quickly. "At your peril, my Lord."

Trip laughed aloud. "I would like to recover yet a little my strength, before facing the peril again, vulcan doll. And then, now I'm more curious than ever. I want really to see how it can be possible, after what we have read, that mine were not bollocks. Without passing over in silence that it's not every day that you give me reason and that, therefore, I feel at this time the irrepressible impulse to see how this is possible. So, ultimately... "

"Ultimately, do we continue to read, my Lord?"

"Yes, let's do so, babe. Just as you want."

T'Pol settled back down very well her head on Trip's chest.

Geez! For a moment she had hoped! And instead nothing! That damned of her Adun hadn't fallen into her trap. In reality, that adorable… ninny?... ninny, yes… had not even noticed that hers was a trap and so, instead of starting to do again what it was logical for him to begin back doing, he had decided to keep reading!

Damn him and damn his delicious dumbness!

But, on the other hand, it was also true that she had repeatedly said and made it clear that she wanted to continue reading.

And he? What did he do? He gave heed to her!

Damn, adorable adorable adorable ninny!

But when would he finally have decided to do what she wanted him to do without having to be her to tell him that she wanted him to do so?

Suddenly T'Pol widened her eyes to herself.

But... but how was she thinking? She was thinking the same way of the Princess!

Albeit the Princess was only nebulously aware of what her mind... No. Her heart... wanted. And was concocting.

But, at the bottom, come to think, it was the same thing for her. For her, T'Pol.

It had always been like that and... and, probably, it would always have been so.

It would always have been up to him, to her Adun, to interpret her wishes and translate them into reality.

Like... like, deep down, _he_ would have done. He. The Nameless One. With the Princess.

But perforce! The Nameless One was her Trip and she... she was the Princess! And, therefore, she could not help but think and behave the same way of the Princess, would have said her priceless Adun.

And he would have been right.

Even in this he would have been right.

Meh! Better... better, even for her, to continue to retrieve a little strength yet. Again her Adun was right. Better to try, if she could, to face her… second capitulation with a little more lucidity.

Certainly, it was hard, very hard, with that hand, that hand of him, placed in the place where it was placed.

Maybe... to tell him to take it off?

But no joking! That hand was fine where it was! Indeed, maybe it wouldn't have been bad for that hand to move a little. It was a lot of time - too long - that it was standing still! A little further healthy torture wouldn't have hurt!

T'Pol moved a little - and rather languidly, in truth - in Trip's arms, as if she had to arrange herself again in some way, more comfortably. To do that, she opened out a little her thighs, locking them again a moment later around his hand. The difference, compared to before, was, quite simply, that now the aforementioned hand was definitely much closer to the fulcrum of her desire.

A sweet, pleasant, deliciously tormenting proximity.

Practically her intimate fluff was tickled by the hand.

T'Pol heaved within herself a long, ecstatic sigh.

She waited some moments for the hot wave, which had propagated powerfully throughout her body, from head to toe, to subside bit by bit.

Then she spoke.

"Agreed, Adun."

Two words. Two words only. In a very low voice. Said in one breath.

Not to betray herself. To try to prevent its husky sound from being able to be clearly perceived.

Oh, she knew very well that her Adun would understand everything.

But who cared? He also had perfectly understood her game. And even her pretending to hide her cravings and his pretending not to notice her game were part of this wonderful game.

He had perfectly understood her desire to be anew delightfully tortured like this, by him.

Before surrendering again.

Before yielding again to her increasingly demanding Pon Farr.

And he would play along with her game until she'd wanted.

Until she'd asked him to stop playing, as it had happened before.

Or...

Or until she'd induced him to stop playing.

Until she'd induced him to do what she wanted him to do without telling him that she wanted him to do so.

As the Princess with the Nameless One.

* * *

 ** _End of Chapter_** _ **Thirty-four**_

 ** _TBC_**

 **oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo**

 **oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo**

 _Sure. Identities._

 _But at this point, my friends, since we know this fact and in light of what has already been told in the previous chapters, what ever will the Princess do?_

 **oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo**

 **oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo**

 **(*)** _ **Galeotto was the book and he who wrote it**_ _, to quote my… ahem… illustrious predecessor. Dante._

 _Really anything but immodest, myself, huh? Oh well, however that may be, the quote is on the beam, because in this case, I mean the case of Trip and T'Pol, Galeotto was the smell._

 _You don't believe? Well in this case, please read my story "Shore Leave"._


	35. The Ears of the Elves - Chapter 35

**The Ears of the Elves**

 **By Asso**

 **Chapter Thirty-five**

* * *

 _She's his_

* * *

 **The Ears of the Elves**

 **Chapter Thirty-five**

 **oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo**

 **oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo**

* * *

" **It will not be like that!** "

More than an assertion, albeit loud, it was a non-shouted cry. But sharp and clear.

Abruptly the Princess revolved on herself, all of a sudden forgetful of the tears that filled her eyes and streamed down her cheeks, while, in the same time, the elven slave girl was turning sharply her face, she too.

And they both, surprised and wide-eyed, gazed at the source of that categorical claim.

She. Again.

The human slave girl.

Quivering.

Almost foaming with rage.

"My Lady! My Princess!" Fiercely. Without hesitation, without fear. "I didn't know what kind of clothes was closed in that casket, the casket that had been placed before me and that I, by direct order of our Master, should have had to bring to you. The only thing I was told, it was that in that casket there were clothes for you and that I should have had to make so as to make you willing to accept to wear them. I have not even looked at them. Merely I rushed to execute the orders that were given me, exactly as my companion did, uncertain and fearful, without knowing how to do, just as my sister of slavery. That's all I knew and that's all I had to do. Certainly I did not know that you, my Lady, should have had to offer show of yourself thus. In this way. But..." The girl breathed harshly. "...but your beauty, my Princess… your beauty…"

The slave girl stopped an instant her flood of words.

Her nostrils flared, as eyes seemed to flare up.

An instant. Just an instant.

Then her voice burst. " **Your beauty has no shame**!"

Another pause - brief, dense, tense - and, lastly... the final bang.

"And you... you, my Lady! YOU!... you will show to the world, to the tenebrous army of Humans under the orders of our Master, such a beauty. A beauty such that it can not feel afraid to show itself! Such that it can not fear anything!"

The dark eyes of the girl looked like two firebrands.

"You, my Lady! You will do it! You will show to the world that your beauty has no shame, that it does not fear anything! You will show to the world that you... **you** , my Princess!... you do not fear anything! **Anything or anyone!"**

The last word was pronounced in a low voice, but it rang as mighty as it were screamed at the top of lungs.

"Anyone! **"**

Both the Princess and the elven slave stood silent, watching agape the human slave, as in their ears what she had said resounded yet, the one and the other almost without being able to realize what she had proclaimed.

' _Proclaimed.'_

Just like that.

Some instants passed, then, with a calmer voice, but loud and shrill again - and firm - the human slave girl continued.

"Things are clear now, my Lady. Our Master has no intention to let get you out of this tent, at least not for now, not for the moment. This show, the show of you, so brazenly provocative, so in... so in declared overt offering, is a show that he reserves to himself. He, my Princess, wants to keep you for him."

The Princess was listening attentively, now, her eyes fixed and intent on the slave girl, like those of the other slave, this one too with pricked up ears.

"The time will come when he will let you get out of here, obviously. We're errant people. The tent will soon be removed, and we, all of us, will resume the path our Lord will want to lead us along. But he will not let you exit before that time, or, if he will do, certainly - now it is clear, it is evident - he will not make you get out of here dressed like that, in this way! If... if one can use a term like that in your case, my Lady!"

The slave lowered her eyes for a moment, as feeling ashamed of what she had just said, words that, she knew, could not but aggravate in her Princess the pain and the shame.

But she raised them right away and immediately resumed speaking with frank and clear voice.

Too, too important it was what she had to say for letting her fears, the fear that she could possibly hurt her Princess with her words as well as the fear for the audacity of what she was going to suggest to her she should do, be capable of urging her to push back into her throat what her mind and her heart had contrived.

And she knew that the Princess knew.

She read it in the tense attention with which she carefully lent ear to her words, without allowing herself to be diverted by her grief and her painful emotions.

* * *

"Emotions! They are really a calamity!"

Trip winced at T'Pol's sudden exclamation.

"Do you really think so, Honey?"

T'Pol shifted uncomfortably in Trip's arms. "They are destructive!"

Trip let go out what seemed a sort of strange, forced grin.

"Are the emotions you feel for me destructive, T'Pol?"

T'Pol's thighs narrowed powerfully around Trip's hand without her even noticing.

"No!" Strong. Aloud!

Then, after a moment, her voice lowered.

"They are my life, Trip!"

Trip laughed again. And this time for real. Softly and sweetly.

"Let's continue reading, sweetie. Let's see that the pathos of the story does not lose power."

T'Pol snuggled, if possible, even more on him, while between her thighs and... beyond, the warmth of his hand grew, suddenly, more intense.

"Yes, Adun." She realized that her voice was choked, but she did not care a damn. "Let's go ahead."

* * *

The words of the human girl rang loud and clear in the silence emphasized by the sizzle of the braziers, still burning.

"Men are jealous of what belongs to them, my Lady. And our master is a man, after all. A Human." The girl dared to say it. "Monstrous, sure!" And she repeated, to give it more strength. "Monstrous! And bigger and stronger than any other man, but a man nonetheless. And you... you belong to him! And this is what he wants you to realize in full!"

The girl fell silent, looking anxious and fearful at Princess' face, fearing that she had gone too far.

But the Princess - simply - nodded. And then... "Go ahead. Continue." A tiny voice. But not hesitant.

The girl nodded back and went on with a quieter voice, albeit still with force and determination.

"He wants you to be totally and completely aware that you belong to him, in every way, in every respect. To him and to no one else. And least of all… least of all to yourself!"

The girl took a step toward the Princess, while her expression grew passionate and the words started to gush again, impetuous, from deep down of her heart.

"You said so, my Lady! Just you! You by yourself have realized that from now on you are consecrated to his will. And he wants you to be wholly conscious of all this, without being possible for you to nourish the slightest doubt, not to say the slightest hope. He wants you to acquire full knowledge that he has total dominance over you, that he can to do with you and of you whatever he wants, that you have no other will than his. That what he took, what he made his, is..."

Suddenly the slave broke off. She put her hand to her mouth, widening her eyes, abruptly aware of what she had said.

It was the Princess who finished for her. With a faint voice. Shivering inside.

"That what he took, what he… _made his_ … is his."

The Princess straightened her shoulders, with a sort of sad pride. And strangely proud, albeit low, resounded her voice.

"And of no one else. And that he can do with what he took whatever he wants. And that what he took has no other will than his. That what he made his…" The Princess raised her green eyes to look at something at the top. A nothingness that there was not. "… _is his_."

The slave did not even have the strength to nod, while her companion was holding her breath.

While the Princess continued, with such a low voice that it was almost impossible to hear it.

"And he... took me."

The wonderful green eyes went down, to watch, shiny with bright tears, the two girls.

"He made me his."

And then the Princess said something else.

One thing... one thing...

A murmur. As she closed her eyes. A faint and low murmur. So faint and low as to be almost impossible to be caught.

But, much as faint and low it could be, it was caught.

The two slave girls heard it. Grasped it. Understood it.

Comprehended it.

" _And I am his."_

And there was silence.

A heavy silence, full of thoughts. Of the human slave and of her companion.

And of the Princess.

Thoughts that she could not share with anyone. Not even with herself.

Thoughts...

The thought that he had taken her because she had wanted to be taken by him.

And the thought that she had disowned that she had wanted him to do it.

And the thought that, now, he was avenging himself.

That he was demonstrating to her that she was his.

And of no one else.

And that with her, he could do whatever he wanted.

Also make her - the Princess Alel, the Princess of elven people - a provocative, sensual, flesh doll on offer to him.

A flesh doll with whom having fun.

Fun.

Humiliating fun.

Nothing else but that.

 _Fun._

 _Degrading fun with the woman who was his and… and would have wanted to be his as… as his woman. His Princess._

 _Not as his flesh doll._

 _And who, about to be what her heart wanted her to be for him… what he, just he, wanted her to be for him… had foolishly recoiled from being what she wanted to be for him. And from what he, he too, wanted her to be for him._

Long was silence. Long. While the Princess kept the gaze down to look with shining eyes at the skirt lying on the ground.

Then...

Then something happened.

The elven slave-girl, just she, spoke in a loud, clear voice.

But not to the Princess. She spoke to her companion, looking at her straight in the face.

And were not words of reproach, hers.

"Go ahead." She said. With energy but also with gentleness. "Complete what you were saying."

The Princess looked up to watch her.

The elven girl threw her a quick, strange look, and then turned back to her companion, who had remained watching her, bewildered and dumbfounded.

"Go ahead, I said. It was certainly not finished what you wanted to say, when you've broken off. You said that our Princess - these are your exact words – _will show to the world, to the tenebrous army of Humans under the orders of our Master_ , her magnificent beauty. Her beauty… _with no shame._ That she will show everyone that her beauty... that _she…_ does not fear anything. Or anyone."

The elf-maiden was silent a moment, then she urged her companion, with a sweet smile of encouragement. "Explain what you meant."

And at that point, the human slave shook herself.

She took courage.

She nodded to her companion, drawing strength from her support.

She resumed talking, her eyes timidly watching the Princess. Timidly. Yet determinedly.

She spoke again.

Limply, at first. Hesitantly.

"My Lady, I beg you, forgive me if I have saddened you, reminding you... reminding you what..." The slave braced herself. "...what happened tonight."

 _What happened tonight._

Because now it was clear what had happened that night.

But something else was clear.

Perfectly clear, by now.

The girl looked at the Princess with timorous eyes, fearing her reaction, but the Princess didn't react as the girl dreaded she could.

What the Princess did was merely of nodding weakly, while her gaze...

 _Oh heavens. Her gaze!_

HER GAZE!

What there was, in that gaze?

Sorrow. Regret. Despair, too. Certainly. Obviously. But... oh Gods!... also... something...

It was difficult to be discerned, amidst all the feelings that shone through those starry eyes, but, nevertheless, there was. It peeped into those wonderful green eyes, bright with tears. It was hiding, but, nonetheless, it could be seen.

And what... what was it? Was it... was it pride, by chance? Could it be?

And... and in addition to it...

There was...

 _There was..._

But could it be ever possible? Could it be ever possible that it was... that it was... something that looked as... as delight? _JOY?_

Joy? But... but what joy? The... the joy of love? The... the painful joy of a love impossible to conceive for the Princess, and yet... and yet existing, in spite of all?

Love.

And its torments.

Love... love is always tormenting, but... how much can it be excruciating if it ignites for the one whom you should believe you can just vituperate and abhor?

The girl was not ignorant. She... she knew! Slave or not that she was, love had sunk its fangs into her flesh!

And its blind tusks had wounded the body and the heart of the girl just like...

 _Just like the Princess?_

The heart of the young girl trembled.

Her master, the master to whom their ferocious Lord had made a gift of her... he… he had become for her something more than just her master!

Her heart… her heart pounded for him!

Deep down within her master the girl had found something she would never have thought to find. Amidst vexations, amidst oppressions, amidst violence, she had found an unspoken desire of warmth that had infused warmth in her. And, without her noticing it at first; without her daring to say, let us not say to him but even to herself, in her heart it had born something for him... something that delighted and tortured at the same time.

It was... it was terrible! It was agonizing! It was unheard of!

But it was so!

And... and was it so even for the Princess with regard… _with regard to her own master_?

With regard to their scary, monstrous, dark, ruthless, cruel, inhuman, beastly Lord?

But... but of course it was so!

Before... before it had been simple impressions. Unspeakable suspicions. Perhaps, indeed, nothing but absurd desires. Both on her part and on the part of her companion, although, strong and sure, words of awareness had sprung from her elven slavery fellow, words that could have been her own.

They were carved in her mind.

 _[Princess, perhaps the bright splendour of the Elves is over, and badly, to let way to the sombre splendour of the Humans. But perhaps. Just perhaps. Because there you still are, my Lady. Slave. And okay. And so be it. But you still exist. You're here. You're alive. And my companion - a Human - recognizes, she too, that you are the…]_

As well as her own next words.

 _[The hope of a better future, my Lady! This you're! And not only for the Elves, but for Humans as well! You have the power to make our... our soulless Lord something... something... different!]_

The Princess and their Lord... together!

Together and... and invincible!

Impressions.

Suspicions.

Desires.

Although loudly and plainly expressed, although proclaimed in clear letters.

But this they were.

Impressions.

Suspicions.

Desires.

But then...

 _But then..._

The words. The words whispered by the Princess. _"And I am his."_

And, in addition to the words, her gaze.

The look she had now.

Oh Gods! The Princess... the Princess was... was...

The Princess did belong to their Lord! Certainly! But not because she was his prey, his slave! She belonged to him because... because she was...she was...

 _ **She was his!**_

And she was his because...

Their dark Lord and Master had taken possession of her heart!

How that were possible, how it could have happened... this was beyond all possible and impossible capability of comprehension.

But it had happened!

Just as, albeit with the huge difference that the Princess was certainly not the miserable slave she was and that her master was certainly not their human and inhuman Lord and Master, it had happened for her towards the master to whom their Lord and Master had assigned her, so it had happened also to the Princess for her own master.

IT HAD HAPPENED!

Those words barely whispered by the Princess... those words overflowing with awareness and, together, with astonishment, and yet also with joy, with pleasure, with flabbergasted delight...

And that look of her, which reflected and magnified all the spoken and unspoken of her words...

 **The dark and magnetic fascination that their beastly Lord possessed, had seized the heart of the Princess!**

It was so.

It was just so, just how she - and also her elven companion - had thought before.

But if it was true, then it was also true that it could happen also that what they both, without saying it to each other, had thought in addition to that incredible perception... and that is... that is, that their Princess could... could be capable of...

Resonant and powerful, in her mind her own thoughts echoed, as stones falling in the void and silence from high to the ground.

 _[Oh Gods! Darkness can also win on the light, but... but if the light is really powerful, if indeed mighty it's its source… it is also possible that, in the end, light prevails and that it may dispel the darkness._ _That light may absorb darkness into its radiance! If the radiance is strong enough. Like that of the Princess!]_

And now the words of the Princess and her gaze showed adamantly that this was possible!

THAT IT COULD BE TRUE THAT SUCH A MARVELLOUS THING COULD COME TRUE!

Oh yeah! Because if their Lord and Master, the one who had taken possession of the heart of the Princess, was certainly not her own master, it was also true that the Princess was not her.

 **She was the Princess!**

And she... she could perform the miracle!

 **She had already performed the miracle!**

It had not been a vision, those deadly arms, the arms of their dark Lord, which were sustaining her!

It had not been a vision, that mantle - his mantle - that enveloped and protected her!

The slave swallowed hard, lost in the Princess' gaze, in all there was in that gaze.

But it was precisely that look to give her the strength to continue talking.

And with great force! Because now she knew she had really to induce the Princess to do what she had in mind that she should do.

Because that was the way! The road!

 **"Yes, my Lady, you are his."**

The Princess winced, as well as the human slave-girl's companion.

But it was only the beginning.

The human slave's voice grew firmer. And, little by little, it became steadfast even more.

A thought, a dominant thought, was filling her mind and her soul, now.

 _ **That**_ **thought!**

 **That was the way! That was the road!**

The Princess had to - absolutely had to! - to follow that road, the only possible, far beyond the childish desire for revenge and retaliation against her Lord and Master which had been the primum movens of her doings and, even, of those of her elven companion.

Because…

Oh Gods! Because if it had been so, if it had happened that way… if the Princess had followed that road, and if success had smiled on her… in this case… even for her - for her, miserable, little slave-girl - the sun would have risen up!

For her... and for her companion of slavery, the sweet elf-maiden. Not immune, not even she - the young Human knew - to her same incredible sin.

And for... for the other slave girls!

 **And even more!**

 **For all people. Elven and Human!**

And that was the way! The road she had conceived! The only way that the Princess – THEY! – had!

The way to open the door to that better world - for Elves and Humans - that had glowed in her mind before! By making conscious the Princess of her... of her power on their Lord and Master! By making her capable of exerting this power!

 **Because... because she had this power!**

The black cloak of their Dark Lord had wrapped her!

It had protected her!

And his deathly arms had sustained her!

The girl's voice grew even surer and stronger.

"Just so, my Lady, as you yourself said, you are his." _Oh yes! She was his! THE PRINCESS WAS HIS!_ _**And he was hers!**_ "Of our Lord and Master. You belong to him. He... took you. He made you... his. So you're his. But you're his not because - not only because - you're his slave. You're his because ... " There was still some hesitation, quickly brushed aside."... you know why, my Lady."

The Princess flinched in hearing the truth be flat-spotted in her face like that.

But she had no way and no time to react.

The slave girl didn't allow her to do it.

"And he wants to make you well aware of that. Your beauty is his and his alone and he wants you to show it to him in the way that pleases him, in the way that he knows that will make you fully aware that you, and your beauty, are his. He wants you to be on display - on offer, on blatant offer ... - for him. "

The slave's voice grew in tone even more.

"But he does not know, can not know, can not yet know, the splendour of the vision that will arise before his eyes! He does not know what our devotion to you, my Lady - the devotion of my slavery companion and mine - has managed to do! He can not know how beautiful... and desirable - desirable, my Lady! More than he can imagine that that skirt made of nothing and with no bra can make you look - you'll appear to him after what we've done to make your beauty even more resplendent than it already is! "

The slave girl took another step toward the Princess, who was listening silent, wide-eyed.

With confused mind.

And with the heart in turmoil.

The slave's voice resounded again, now full of ardour, strong and sure.

"But, my Lady, if we, my companion and I, have worked so hard to allow your beauty to appear in all its splendour, it is certainly because we wanted you to be able to shine, literally, in front of him, to be able to dazzle him. Of course. Sure. We have also done it for this. He is the Lord and Master of us and our lives. We obey his orders and his will from the moment in which we have been enslaved. But we have done it not only for this. Not only for this!"

Now the eyes of the slave were burning. Literally.

"We, my Lady, my Princess... we wanted our Princess to be beautiful and shining in and of herself, to honour the Princess that she is. We have said it. We have proclaimed it. And, beyond that, we've also said... "

Now it seemed that the tent resonated of the slave's voice.

"We have also said that if he had wanted you to go out of here, your splendour, the splendour that befits the Princess you are, should have been displayed to the whole world. But, clearly and just as I said before, he doesn't want this to happen, for the moment at least. When he shall decide you can get out of this tent, then he will show you to the world very differently dressed. He is certainly not willing to share with others the vision of you that he imposes on you to offer to him. He would not even have bothered to make you have this unsubstantial skirt devoid of bra, if he had not had this specific design in mind. No. For the moment, he wants you here, just for him, and…"

And, at this point, the human girl made a further pause, grave and full of effect, a not so short pause that gave impressive emphasis to what she said next.

"… and the thought that it can gone differently, that you can get out of here, against his will, dressed like that, that you... you can dare to act so, that you can think to... to challenge him... this thought did not even touch his mind."

The slave, now, was really impassioned. To the maximum degree. And her eyes seemed to burn, as she threw out her last words.

" **And instead you will do it!** "

An order? An order, from the slave?

No. A desire. Extremely strong. So strong as to turn into order.

"You'll do it, my Princess! In spite of him and of his will, you'll do it!"

The slave approached the Princess, silent and stunned, and threw herself at her feet.

Tremulous, pleading, was her gaze, as she spoke to the Princess, looking at her from below, her face and her arms raised towards her. But not tremulous nor pleading was her voice.

It was strong and sure.

"You'll do it, my Princess! You'll defy him! You - by your own volition! Not by his. NOT BY HIS! By yours! Yours! – will offer this sight, the sight of you, dressed up - unclothed! - in this way - that in his mind is destined to him and only him - to everyone! TO EVERYONE! You... you, my Lady... you'll not follow his volition! You'll follow yours own! You'll show to his gang that he has no dominance over you! That he can not dominate your spirit! That he can also have taken your body, but certainly not your spirit, nor, even less, your will. You are the Princess Alel, free and proud. Free, my Lady! Free! You'll show to his band of dirty warriors and of slaves and of servants that you're free! Free to do what you want to do! That you do not fear anything! ANYTHING! Not even their gazes! Not even their desires! Their cravings! Not even... "

And here the human slave-girl's voce failed her. It trembled. She lowered her visage and let fall down her arms.

But she said it anyway, although so low that it seemed she had terror to say it. And so it was, actually. The enormity of what she was asserting suddenly revealed itself with clarity to her mind. But, in despite of this, she managed to do it. The Princess and the other slave girl heard perfectly.

"... not even him!"

* * *

 _ **End of Chapter Thirty-five**_

 _ **TBC**_

 **oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo**

 **oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo**

 _She's his._

 _And he? Is he of someone?_

 _His arms, which sustained her._

 _And his mantle, that wrapped and protected her._

 _Is he, by chance, hers?_


	36. The Ears of the Elves - Chapter 36

**The Ears of the Elves**

 **By Asso**

 **Chapter Thirty-six**

* * *

 _The calm before the storm._

* * *

 **The Ears of the Elves**

 **Chapter Thirty-six**

 **oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo**

 **oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo**

* * *

"Well, I must really admit it."

T'Pol pricked up her ears. One might say that if they had not already been pointy, they would have become so.

"What do you have to admit, my Lord?"

The voice, to be honest, sounded a little uncertain. The fact was that T'Pol never knew well where her ineffable Adun was getting at. And... well... there was always to be on the alert, with him.

"That you're right."

"Ah." T'Pol could not hold back herself. "Actually, my Lord... I ask your pardon if I can sound disrespectful, but there's to believe that this is a matter of fact. I mean that I'm right."

Trip laughed heartily. "Respectful and obedient and docile vulcan wifey, eh? Sure, sure. But still vulcan, it goes without saying." The laughter subsided, but Trip's voice seemed to laugh per se. "But, on the other hand, why should it not be so? You are a vulcan female." There was a slight laugh again. "And just me, I asked for it! And, incredibly, I still want it! And more and more, in addition! A further demonstration of what I see myself forced to admit."

"My Husband and Lord ..." T'Pol rose a little, to look with slightly worried eyes at Trip. Worried and rather confused, in truth, a reflection of the confusion of her mind. But what the hell did he mean, her sybilline Adun? "Please. I'm sorry. I ..."

"There's nothing to apologize, little doll. You are right in saying you're right. Otherwise, what kind of Vulcan would ever you be ever?"

T'Pol, a tad quieter, but not too much, actually, and not exactly sure of what her human roguish Adun wanted really to mean, resettled herself in her position. "Glad to hear you say it and to know that I haven't irritated you, my Husband and Lord."

Then curiosity got the upper hand. "But, I pray, my Lord, apropos of what, would I be right, right now?"

The PADD down again, Trip lowered his head and, very rapidly and for a briefest moment, in order to avoid the triggering of _dangerous_ mechanisms, he rubbed his lips on the tip of T'Pol's pointy ear, thing which, however, despite its fleetingness, did not fail to make literally tremble deliciously with pleasure the aforecited respectful vulcan wifey.

"You always say, my sweetness, that Humans tend to act on impulse, regardless of the consequences." He smiled. He knew she could not see his smile, given her… peculiar position, but he was more than sure that it was as if she could see it. "And, if I remember correctly, you say that I am the veracious mirror of this way of doing."

T'Pol shifted uncomfortably on top of Trip. "Trip, my husband..."

"Oh, you're right. Again, you're right, honey." Trip gently kissed T'Pol's hair. "I'm really a difficult person. Good thing there's you. But - well! - you've really your work cut out, with me, huh, sweetheart?"

T'Pol basked in Trip's embrace. In the warmth of his closeness. "It's not an unpleasant job, Husband."

"Is it not?"

"No. Not at all."

Trip's laughter warmed T'Pol's ears and heart.

"Glad you think so, honey."

T'Pol curled up in Trip's arms, being well careful, however, that his hand were able to remain very steady there where it lay.

"But, my Lord..." Far from easy to speak lucidly, at that moment, but T'Pol was T'Pol. With difficulty, but she succeeded. "...why such thoughts, just right now?"

If she had looked up at him, she could have seen. What she knew and sensed very well that he was doing at the time.

Rummaging with his tongue the inside of his cheek. Looking for the right words.

Which came, after a moment.

"The girl. The human slave girl, I mean."

"Yes?"

"T'Pol. That she is a nice little chap, we have understood since a while."

"Your language is rather obscure, my Husband and Lord, but I think I understand what you want to say."

"Oh yeah? You know, my girl? I have no doubt about it."

T'Pol's head snapped. "My Lord!"

"And you too are a nice little chap."

" **My lord!** "

"Nearly human, we could say."

" **MY LORD!** "

"Why? Is it something you're sorry?"

T'Pol's head took refuge again into Trip's chest. And now? What the hell could she answer?

She took courage in both hands. And then... well, damn it! To quote him ... it was the pure truth! She simply had to season it with that pinch of irony that served so much to tell the truth, without worrying about all that much. Just as she had learned to do from him. From her T'hai'la.

"Husband, I admit. I am a... nice little chap."

"Oh oh! Not bad!"

"But, please note, it's your fault. Or merit, if you want."

"Oh yes?"

"Yes. It is one of the consequences of your... ahem... your recklessness."

"I beg your pardon?"

"You had to think, my Lord, about the consequences that you would have had to face in taking me."

"What? Do you mean I should have to think I would have found myself facing with the nice little chap you're?"

"I mean that you should have thought that you would have found yourself facing with the nice little chap that I would have become as a consequence of the influence exerted by you on me, my reckless Husband and Lord."

"Ah, you would be a nice little chap because of me?"

"Do you remember, my Lord? That little thing that takes the name of Vulcan Bond. You were and are well aware of its deepest meaning."

"So…"

"So, it is you who have made me so."

"Mh. I'm not so sure. I have a feeling that I have just set fire to the powder."

"I beg your pardon?"

Trip chuckled aloud. "Do not play dumb. You understand very well."

T'Pol smiled to herself and, to say truth, even her voice sounded smiling. "In this case, my Lord, all the more so, since you're not foolish..."

"Oh, thank you! A lot!"

"...one has to think that, in wanting to take me at any cost, you didn't get worried about the consequences, which is a clear demonstration of my respectful but logical judgment on you."

Trip chortled. "Namely that I am reckless and that I act on impulse, heedless of the consequences."

At that point, T'Pol turned her face upward toward Trip. Really. Hers looked like two doe eyes. "Hopefully, not all consequences of this your way of acting, my Lord, are unpleasant."

Trip snickered strongly. "No. Not all of them. Although even the pleasant ones are not easy to treat. One them, in particular."

"Do you mean me?"

"Well, babe, you were the one saying it. Have not you admitted to be a nice little chap? And, frankly, it matters little if by nature or by my bad influence on you."

"Oh, but you know how to do, I mean how to handle such pleasant, yet difficult to manage, consequences. Me included, my Lord."

"I know?"

"I really think so."

"Eh, my instinct, probably Or, as you would say, my human mood." And Trip's hand moved a little. Now it was right there. Over there. Exactly over there.

T'Pol lowered abruptly her head and closed her eyes. She sighed harshly, as her thighs clenched spasmodically. "Y... yes! You know really how to do!"

"Ah, so my human mood, although contagious, as it seems given my influence over you, is then not so bad."

T'Pol's breasts rose up in a sigh that sounded almost a groan. "Honestly…" The sigh-groan repeated itself again. "...I… I have come to appreciate the human mood... rather greatly. Particularly... particularly... yours."

And Trip grinned mischievously aloud. "Ah yes? Well, very significant appreciation, this one from you, vulcan doll."

T'Pol could not resist. She spread her thighs a little and... "I wish..." Her voice was hoarse. "... I wish I had way to appreciate it even more."

Trip grinned within himself. "How, my sweetheart? Do you have any suggestions?"

And T'Pol had no restraint. She spread her thighs wide apart to lead the way and then... "Go inside. Your fingers. Inside, Trip!"

"What?!"

Trips' exclamation was sincere. It gushed directly from the depths of him.

Sure, he was playing with her, was tantalizing her. It was his game, with her.

It was _their_ game.

He knew T'Pol liked that. She was… _hot_.

Damnedly hot!

No one but him could know how T'Pol could be hot!

But now... she was... she was more than hot!

She was... **unbridled!**

The Pon Farr!

 **Damn! This damn Pon Farr!**

And – Damn! – how she was right about it!

In every respect.

Even in respect of how he would have been influenced by it.

Eh sure! Because her Pon Farr, the same Pon Farr that he - He! - had aroused in her, was reverberating on him! Exactly as she had claimed it would happen!

It was exalting and strengthening his desire for her and his own way to stimulate her! To arouse her cravings!

And she...

Well, maybe, it would have been tremendously hard to govern, this damn Pon Farr! A veritable mess! But, if the start showed even just slightly how it would have revealed itself to be at its acme... oh God! It would have been a thing without comparison!

The sun - its atomic furnace! - would be a gas ring worth a few coins compared with her!

It was her husky voice that woke him from his swirling thoughts.

"Yes! Inside, Adun! Your fingers, your whole hand! Inside! INSIDE!"

Equally hoarse, although for different reasons, Trip's voice rang out. "T'Pol! But what are you saying?"

"Go inside! Go inside with your hand! That's what I'm telling you!"!"

"But… but… T'Pol!" He barely managed to stammer. "And... and the f... fable? Its... its reading? The p... p... pathos?"

Her reply was mind blowing. "I am telling you to go inside with your hand! Not to move it, once inside!"

"Eh?"

"I want your hand inside! I want your fingers _on the exact place!_ I do not want you to move them! I - **I!** -will tell you when to do it!"

"What?!"

There was no reply from T'Pol.

It was no longer time of replies, on her part.

Of _verbal_ replies.

Her thighs did spread apart even more. Her intimate warmth was a boiling siren that Trip - his hand - could not escape.

His fingers slid inside. They positioned themselves on the exact spot.

T'Pol thighs did shut abruptly.

A long, harsh, hoarse, ecstatic sigh came out from deep within her.

Her eyes fluttered half-open. "Yes! This way!" Her voice was low and husky. "Keep your hand steady this way!"

Trip stayed silent. Her heat - the damp heat of her intimacy - imbued his fingers. It took away his voice.

"Stay so, my Adun." Her eyes closed again. Her voice was hoarse, low and dreamy. "Do not move. Let me suffer of pleasure so."

Trip tried to rouse himself. "T'Pol ..."

"I will follow the reading of the tale so, in this way."

"T'Pol... maybe... maybe it's better that we talk with Phlox now."

"NO!" T'Pol's voice was almost a shout. Then it quieted. "No. This... this is our intimacy. Entirely ours."

"But... T'Pol... my darling..."

"No, Adun. Please." The fluffy warmth of her voice was almost equal to the fluffy warmth of her intimacy. "I want to stay so. Alone with you. Tortured by you."

"But T'Pol ..."

"I love your human mood. And this... this is my own mood. My _vulcan_ mood. I beg you, love it as much as I love yours. Let me savour it all the way. And savour it along with me."

Trip tried to put up a last, strenuous resistance. But he knew he had no chance. "But... but T'Pol, my sweetheart... how... how will you do? How will you be able to resist? And... what about me? How will I be able to do it?"

"I will know how to withstand, my T'hai'la. At least as long as you will allow me to do so. The reading - its pathos - will not suffer. And you ..." T'Pol's voice grew deep as never. "... you, my Lord, my husband, my beloved... you will know how to guide me, how to contain me. And you will know how to make me die with delight when I will ask you to do it. You..." Suddenly, T'Pol's voice resounded subtly and sweetly jocular. "...you know how to handle, as much as they can be difficult to manage, the consequences of your impulsive and ill-advised behaviour. Included myself."

And, at this point, what else could Trip ever do if not to laugh merrily? Regardless and in despite of where his hand stood? And of everything that this brought with it? And so he did. And, laughing... "Well, honey, I do hope that the human slave girl may know - she too, as you say that I am capable of doing - how to handle the consequences of her impulsive and ill-advised behaviour."

But, at that moment, just after those playful words and even in the particular moment of the situation, Trip's voice grew serious.

"Because that's the point. That's what led me to say that I must really admit it."

He stopped an instant.

"And namely that Humans, like me..." He grinned a little forcedly - "... primarily like me and, it seems, like our nice little chap, the little human slave, are really reckless and imprudent."

His voice became even more serious.

"They tend to follow their own instincts, their impulses, without thinking about the consequences. Although, at some point, they realize what they are doing."

Even more serious. So his voice rang now.

"Just as, it seems, our girl has suddenly come to understand."

T'Pol, in truth, had no little difficulty to internalize all round the words of her Adun. Indeed, in reality, she had many and many and many difficulties even merely to listen.

But it was her who had wanted him to stay so, his hand - his fingers - to be where they were.

And she had said that she would be able to withstand that torture.

That wonderful torture.

Therefore, she applied all herself, at her utmost and even more.

And she made it. Surak only - and perhaps not even he - could have been capable of knowing how she succeeded.

Be that as it, she succeeded.

She managed to become once again lucid.

Although her katra continued to bask in that such intimate contact, so exciting, so wonderfully torturous.

"We'll see, Adun."

Her voice was capable of resonating simultaneously hoarse, dreamy, vivid and shiny. Trip, smiling inwardly, found himself thinking - one more time and yet again - that there could be no other woman like her.

"Continue reading. So we will know what will happen. I..." There was a moment of pause. It was not easy, for T'Pol, to stoically endure that stupendous torture. "... I know it already, but I'm sure you will know how to enlighten me even more."

Trip shrugged. But it was certainly not a gesture of annoyance or resignation.

It was a gesture of wonder and delight.

She had made him go through a mill, a veritable calvary, had been up to all sort of things towards him. But if this was the result of his sufferings... well, he was willing to relive those sufferings for thousands and thousands of times again!

He smiled. Then he laughed. Slow and gently.

Her fingers were wet of her intimate lymph.

With great effort, he ignored that marvellous wetness.

He lifted the PADD.

"All right, sweetheart. Let us go forward."

* * *

 ** _End of Chapter Thirty-six_**

 ** _TBC_**

* * *

 **oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo**

 **oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo**

 _The_ _calm_ _?_


	37. The Ears of the Elves - Chapter 37

**The Ears of the Elves**

 **By Asso**

 **Chapter Thirty-seven**

* * *

 _The storm approaches._

* * *

 **The Ears of the Elves**

 **Chapter Thirty-seven**

 **oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo**

 **oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo**

* * *

Long was silence.

Long and heavy.

Bated.

Full of expectation. Of unspoken questions. Desirous and yet timorous to explode in bright light.

It was the elven slave girl who broke the silence, who gave voice to the unspoken. Or rather, who tried to do so.

"Sister!"

So she turned to her human companion of slavery. So she broke the last barriers between them.

"Sister! You can't think that our Princess..."

But, actually, she could only try, because her voice - astonished; shocked, almost incredulous; even scolding - had to give way to another voice.

"So be it."

The Princess.

She took command.

* * *

"Oh, things start to unravel, finally! And…" Trip chuckled strongly. "…well, about time too! The Princess has decided to stop making the beautiful ornament, I mean to act at last! I was beginning to believe she wasn't you, sweetness of my heart!"

Trip's grin became brazen. "And you, little pestiferous human slave-girl! You, if I am not mistaken about what is going to happen now - and I don't think at all, considering what my sweet wifey said previously - have brought the Princess on the road you wanted."

The grin turned into an amused smirk. "And okay. But now? What will happen to the Princess? And to you too, not to mention to your... yeah... to your sister. Oh, you're smart, nothing to say, but surely not too much inclined to grasp in whole the consequences of your actions."

At this point, Trip laughed wholeheartedly. "Just as I am, if we lend an ear to the…" His eyes fell on T'Pol and she, even without seeing that he was doing it, could clearly perceive and feel the tease that was in them. Sweet, however, as well as his tone. "… _current_ version of the Princess."

T'Pol didn't move even a little in Trip's arms, nor, even less, she deigned to retort the mocking words of her mocking Adun.

Trip smiled to himself. Certainly this constituted her habitual cliché. If she did not quite know what to say, well, in this case she stood silent. But... not even a small elevation of eyebrow? Just as he knew that she was wont to do when she was at a loss for words? Not even this? Was… well... was, this time, the peculiar… position of his hand? _Definitely_ peculiar, in truth.

Chuckling to himself, he played the worried husband role. "Hey, babe. Everything fine?"

Silence.

"Nothing to say?"

Silence.

"Nothing at all?"

Silence.

"Not even a tiny inquiring raising of your eyebrow?"

Silence and silence again.

"Mh, this is not like you, honey. I wonder if you've some difficulty concentrating. Maybe if I take off my hand..."

This time the answer there was. Not in words, though, but equally eloquent. Indeed, definitely more.

T'Pol's thighs tightened like a vise. It would have taken the superior might of the King of the Gods to release Trip's hand and perhaps not even he would have managed to do so.

Trip laughed aloud. "Okay, okay. I've got the message."

Then he laughed again, more softly. "So then, let's go on like this."

T'Pol's thighs loosened the grip. But not too much.

A further laugh from Trip, gentle and soft. "So, let's see. Where were we? Ah yes. At the taking of command by the Princess. Okay, let's continue."

The grasp of T'Pol's thighs became a bit softer while Trip resumed reading, the hint of an amused smirk painted on his mouth.

* * *

Both slaves turned their head toward the Princess.

Her gaze hit them almost physically,

It was proud. It was confident.

It was steadfast.

Resolute.

The gaze of a real Princess.

 _Their_ Princess.

The tears still glistened in her eyes, but they were not tears. They were resplendent pearls.

And those on her face...

They too were not tears, those which were streaming down her cheeks. They were shimmering jewels, tenuous threads of glittering nacre.

Upright, naked, magnificent, superb.

In the veiled light that now filled the tent, suddenly broken from time to time by bright sabre-cuts of sunlight darting abruptly here and there, in one with the swinging of the curtain closing off the entrance under the gentle blows of wind of the luminous morning.

Her hands quietly intertwined on her flat and smooth naked belly.

So she stood.

Her bare breasts bursting out, proud of their gorgeous nudity.

Her beautiful - perfect - visage surmounted by her blonde hair, royally and sumptuously styled in the way that the two of them had set it, like a sparkling crown of pure gold.

The very fine tips of her delicate pointed ears...

* * *

Trip hesitated for a split second.

Pointed ears. Yeah. So those of the Elves were. Like... like those of the Vulcans. And like those of T'Pol. Who was the Princess. Just as he was the Nameless One. A Trip and a T'Pol who had lived a long time ago. Very long. Long, long, long before there were the Humans, at least the Humans of today.

Other times. Remote ages. Very far away in the past.

And other species, too. Not those of now.

Species disappeared, replaced by others, appeared later in time.

As the Humans of now, surely only partially comparable to the Humans of the time of that Trip and that T'Pol.

And as… the Vulcans.

The Vulcans of today.

Those with pointed ears.

 _Pointed ears, pointed ears, pointed ears…_

Traces of vulcan species different from today's had of course been found. As it was for Humans. And it was not that there could be true certainty about their features. Just as for the Humans.

 _Pointed ears…_

 _That maybe…_

 _That maybe once Vulcans didn't have. Or, perhaps, only in part. Maybe some nascent glimmer. Some innate predisposition. Coming from a past even more distant. That of the epoch of the King. And of the Bannerdas._ **(*)**

Once. In those remote times. The times of those Humans, those of the Nameless One, forgotten, erased forever in the past. And of the Elves.

Remote times. So remote that the memory had been lost.

That it had remained only… only in that fable.

The memory of those ages.

Of what had happened in those ages.

Of what could be the features of the Vulcans of those ages.

 _Pointed ears._

Like those of the Elves.

Like those of the Princess.

Who was T'Pol.

And who had fallen in love with a Human. Because so it was.

A Human of those times.

And a Human rather… rather peculiar. Different.

A beast.

As... as had became the King. **(*)**

And a Human who was him. Trip. Just as… just as he had been… the King. **(*)**

It was an extremely quick thought, so tenuous that it could not even be grasped. Or that, perhaps, he didn't even want to really grasp. And intertwined with other thoughts, they too elusive - and disconcerting, just as that thought - deriving from T'Pol's bizarre and uncertain allusions.

Allusions about something... something that would be born, in those distant times, from...

From what? Or rather... from whom? From the Nameless One and the Princess?

The result, unbelievable and unthinkable, of his redemption? At the hands of her?

The fruit, unimaginable, of the soul in him reborn thanks to her? To her love for him?

It was not hard to imagine. Was it not thanks to T'Pol, to her love for him, even if yet fearful of revealing itself, that in him a soul was reborn? Was it not thanks to her that hatred, rancour, thirst for revenge arising from the death of his sister by the hand of the Xindi had vanished?

And T'Pol, wasn't she the Princess? Just as he was the Nameless One? So couldn't the Princess make vanish in the Nameless One – in that other himself - all his rancour and hatred and thirst for vengeance just as T'Pol had done with him?

And which, _what_ would it have been, the result of all this? The fruit of a love such as to transcend time; a love even more ancient than that of the Princess and of the Nameless One, started in times even more ancient, in the times of the King and of Lil **(*)** ; a love such as to be able to arrive until today, to go, even - indeed certainly - very much further forward in time? Until and beyond - yes, beyond - the end of time?

A very elusive thought. Extremely fleeting.

Unreal, in its substance.

A _disconcerting_ thought. Like the bewilderment shown by T'Pol at the beginning. Like her reluctance to explain its reasons.

Elusive. Fleeting. Like his elusive, fleeting hesitation.

He... he was certain that T'Pol did not had even noticed.

And then, if one thought of their... position and her peculiar current status…

No. She could not have noticed.

She couldn't.

And nothing was the slight shivering of her body against his.

Nothing.

A nothing made of nothingness.

Just as his thoughts.

As his hesitation.

Very rapidly he resumed reading, concluding the sentence that had caused his hesitation

And the fleeting and elusive whirlwind of disconcerting thoughts in his head.

* * *

... just outcropping from among the lush hair.

The statue of perfect and proud beauty who was the Princess quietly watched the two slave girls, who - the human one now on her feet - had approached one another and had joined their hands to seek for mutual support.

Slowly and regally, the Princess' gaze shifted. Her mesmeric green eyes looked down.

They watched the wonderful skirt made of nothing, lying on the ground.

Her hand wavered lightly in the air.

Her chin moved in a slight nod.

"Help me." A command. Imperious but nevertheless sweet.

"Dress me ..." Her red and fleshy lips curled up into a wry smile. "...dress me with that skirt."

* * *

"Ah, here we are!"

For some recondite reason, at those words of Trip, T'Pol feel literally vibrate that... that secret and intimate spot between his fingers.

* * *

The two slaves snapped in unison.

With no need to say anything to each other, one ran to pick up the skirt from the ground, the other, with awe and reverence, almost reluctantly, stammering a tremulous _'Allow me, my Lady'_ , took the Princess's wrists and made her lift her arms high up above her head.

With the same awe, with the same reverence, and yet, somehow, with obvious joy, the slave girl who had picked up the skirt placed it in front of the Princess' waist.

The slave knelt before her, while the other slave was watching, a little back, now.

With joyful eyes.

The same joy - the same pride - that leaked out clearly in the manners, in the eyes, in the gestures, of the slave girl who was about to make the Princess wear the skirt.

Lightly and cautiously, she put the skirt on the hips of the Princess.

"Turn... turn around, my Lady." Her voice was a murmur.

The Princess executed. Still with her arms raised high above her head.

"T… turn around again, Princess." A feeble murmur again.

The Princess executed again. Her arms still aloft, over her head.

A slight click. The precious buckle was hooked.

The skirt was worn.

The very short, very precious veil of gold and jewels was lying on the hips of the Princess.

A second dazzling skin that didn't at all concealed her smooth, real skin.

That didn't conceal anything.

That would have gone up, would have wavered, vaporous, at the slightest of her movements.

Revealing even more, if possible, every thing.

For a few moments the Princess stood firm, under the spellbound gaze of the two slave girls.

Then, there was a twinkle, in her eyes.

And she began to move.

Her hands, first, as her body continued to stay motionless.

They - her hands - well high above her head, intertwined the one with the other, staying so for some instants; then, they split up from each other; then they stretched out; and finally they started to move, together with her arms, by drawing together with them sinuous figures in the air.

Then, it was the turn of her body.

Slowly, languidly, as her arms and her hands were continuing to trace serpentine drawings above her head, she started to rotate on herself.

One time; two times; three times; four times; and again and again and again.

By moving prettily legs and feet.

Dance moves. So, they appeared. And this, they were. Graceful dance moves. Graceful. And alluring.

And as her nude dancing legs and her bare feet played their bewitching game, the Princess showed what the rest of her body was able to do; how she was capable of adding seduction to seduction.

 _Forbidden seduction to sensual seduction._

By making swing rhythmically her pelvis and rotating it. In a slow cadence. And provoking.

And by interspersing the rhythmic and sensuous swaying of her hips with sudden and more pronounced oscillations, abrupt snaps of her pelvis, short and strong. And sensual. And provocative.

And by making sway the skirt at every rocking of her curvy hips and making so open out the subtle, precious threads that constituted it, to reveal even more what was revealed already.

And by making go up abruptly the skirt at every sudden snap of her pelvis up to be well above the line of her waist, to show so in the whole and fully what the skirt mendaciously claimed to conceal.

And by letting her bare breasts sway in full view, brazenly and unashamedly, along with the swaying of her body.

And by offering to the view and to the senses the sensual spectacle of an unambiguous luscious, voluptuous, erotic, dance of seductive sexual carnal offer.

She stopped, finally, and remained still and erect in front of the two slaves, still holding up her arms, her florid and well shaped breasts in plain sight, while the skirt settled down, reclining softly on her shapely hips.

She looked with shrewd and impertinent eyes at the two slave girls, mouth open in front of her.

"Well? What do you say? Can I be considered sufficiently desirable?"

* * *

"Hell's bells! Now, that's being female!"

"Trip!"

Oh oh! Wrong! Completely! And now? How would he put it with his _extremely_ sweet better half? Anything but... oh sure!... anything but jealous and possessive! Damn! But why had he let slip out from his mouth that appreciation for the Princess?

"Ho... honey! Wh… what's up?"

Damn! What sort of babbling on his part! But, on the other hand, he knew that the storm was gathering on his head!

And instead not! Incredibly not!

"Adun, maybe... maybe better you..."

"Y… yup?"

"... better you to pull out your hand from... from where it is."

"U…Uh?"

"At least... at least for a while."

Trip recovered immediately and exploited ignobly the unforeseen favourable circumstance. Life - _and she_ \- had toughened him rather significantly!

"But, sweetheart, I have not moved my fingers! I followed your wishes!" His laugh let itself be heard. "Although, I really have to say, it cost me a great effort. You know, the sensual movements so plainly described of the Princess..."

"Precisely!"

"Precisely? Precisely... what?"

"That sort of sensual dance she performed... I... I felt… _I feel_ … an… an enormous desire to tell you to move your fingers, but..."

"But?"

"The movements of the Princess. Her... yes... her cheeky dancing of offer..."

Trip chuckled to himself, while T'Pol stood perfectly still with her eyes closed, as if she were fearful of moving.

"Yes, honey?"

"I... I do not know if I could be able to content myself merely with your fingers!"

"Oh? You could want something else?"

" Y... yes."

"Ah. And what? And ..." He grinned softly. "... and _where_ , if I may ask?"

T'Pol squirmed in Trip's arms. Suddenly she spread her thighs.

"Please, Adun. Remove your hand!"

Trip laughed. "Damn! I am beginning to think that fickleness is a common prerogative to all women, irrespective of their race. Anyway, okay, vulcan doll."

And, grinning, he complied. Gently. But, fortunately for T'Pol, also rapidly.

T'Pol's thighs closed around his hand, stopping it at the right distance.

She sighed. "I... I still need some time, Adun. I was wrong. I am not able to bear such a love torture, keeping awake my attention on the fable. Especially... especially considering that it carries on like this for a while yet!"

"Ah, so it's so! I mean, the Princess will be able to - how to say - to do even better! Well, I don't have to struggle too much to believe it. You, as first, have made it clear that ..."

T'Pol jerked. Her head snapped upward. Her eyes pierced Trip.

"Adun! Remember that your woman is me!"

 _Ooops! A damn misstep! And now?_ "Well, but... but certainly, T'Pol! What a sort of..."

"Only I have the right to make you be excited!"

Damn! That meant talking without mincing words! "But... but... but T'Pol!"

"I alone!"

"But T'Pol! Think about it! We are reading a fable that speaks of you! You're... you're the Princess! Her sensuality is _your_ sensuality!"

"Vulcan females are not sensual!"

Trip couldn't help but snicker. "Ah no?"

"Well, maybe, if it's the case... they may even be."

"Ah here."

T'Pol snorted. "Anyway, whether the Princess is me or not, I'd like that ..."

"That my excitement may be reserved only to you?"

"Yes. Yes! **And yes!** "

"Okay, okay, okay. Understood. In this case, considering how things are going with the attitudes of the Princess, it's really better that I keep my hand away from any possible source of distraction. For you. And for me."

He smirked. "You know… the object of my attention would be you, of course, but I seem to understand that you would like to be you and you alone, flesh and bone, the direct source of my attention. Without the intermediation of the Princess."

T'Pol nodded. Uncomfortable, but firmly.

"Mh. Okay, as you whish, babe. Sure, it's weird, though." He grinned cheekily. "Let's even gloss over the fact that a vulcan female can be jealous, but being jealous of oneself!

This time the eyebrow rose. And how!

Blackguard of an Adun! But how could he dare use against her the exact words that he, himself, had said when she had...

Mh, yeah. When she had seduced him.

Flirting... oh, ahem, admittedly it was so... flirting with him. And cajoling and fooling him, until... until to bring him to utter those words.

His act of surrender.

Her victory.

Obtained without... without saying to him that she wanted him.

Virtually forcing him to reveal himself.

And, to want to be really honest, it mattered little, in the end, that he had consciously led her to be jealous, to force her to take openly the field. **(**)**

She did not know, then, what really lay behind… - T'Pol felt mount the blood to her head at the thought; not exactly vulcan, this, but there was nothing to do - … behind the… the unbecoming exchanges of attentions between him and Cole; did not know that those were his subreptitious manoeuvres to bring her to cease to do... to do the cold fish. Yeah! The cold fish!

She did not know anything at that moment. And she was jealous. And she wanted him. And she wanted to make him fall into her trap... into her trap of seduction.

Hers! Not that of Cole!

If there was anyone who could, who had to, who had the right to seduce him, this anyone was definitely her! Certainly not Amanda Cole! That... that hateful human female who had had the courage to try to steal from her what was hers! What belonged to her and only to her! Him! Her Adun!

Yes! Only she had the right to seduce him! To make him her own! By all means! Even... even with the facts! Just as she had done when she had realized that he was… that he was cooked to perfection - Exactly so! Perfect expression! _Cooked to perfection!_ \- but that he needed a last, substantial push!

Yeah. Certainly. Sure.

But it was still true that she had not revealed herself to him openly and that she had ensnared him. And it mattered nothing that, ultimately, in reality it had been him the one who had ensnared her. And then, what other means could he ever have? Given the stupid ostentatious aloofness that foolishly and stubbornly she persisted in showing for him?

The fact was... the fact was that, regardless of whatever he had done to bring her to disclose to him her feelings for him, she had deliberately trapped him. And... and... the time when she could have manifested to him what she felt for him... the next morning... she... she... - T'Pol felt regret and shame expand inside her - she had ... she had silenced him with... with those words! _Scientific research about human sexuality_! The fool that she had been! Fool, imbecile... and naughty! Yes! Even naughty!

And... and, all this aside, the fact remained that... that she had actually been jealous!

Maybe... well... yes... maybe it was really better not to collect his provocation. After all, his was nothing but a small and innocent retaliation. A candid not detrimental revenge. And not... not at all unjustified, to be fair.

And then... well... yes... well... considering her _present_ condition, it was not really the case!

The eyebrow went down. But it was also necessary remedying in some way its meaningful previous raising. And she knew how to do. She had learned. She had learned to be a true female. No. This was incorrect. She had learned – and with the greatest contentment and pleasure - to be the female he liked. And the female she liked to be for him.

Sensual and provoking. Oh yeah. Just so. Not exactly appropriate to a vulcan female? But please! Dissembling, all right! But lying shamelessly, even in your intimate... well, this no!

It was... it was merely a matter of who was the one who pushed you to be sensual and provoking! And with this one – with him. HIM! – such a thing, in their intimacy, had turned out to be for her wholly spontaneous and... and, honestly, sometimes, when it was the case, a little even not just in private. She liked to make him feel proud of her and even surprise him. It was... well, yeah, well... it was very funny.

To such an extent that there was to think about whether one day or another she would not want to get to dance for him as the Princess. After all... well, after all, she and the Princess were the same person, so why shouldn't she be able to do what the... - how had her... yeah... her _always facetious_ Adun said? - ... the previous version of herself did? A little proper study, a little commitment... and the game was done.

And... but sure! Why not? Not now, of course, not now... but, more later in time. Not too much, though. At the right moment, when she would have felt her Pon Farr on the point to submerge her completely, when whichever possible residual inhibition would have inevitably faded away totally... well then, at that moment, she would have done it! She would have danced for him, for her Adun, exactly... exactly as the Princess had done!

And... and even more! Even better! Even more seductively! Even more sensuously!

It would be her gift for him! To reward him for... for the... the daunting task that awaited him! And, if she had learned to know him well - and she had learned! And how! - she was sure he would have enjoyed very much her gift. At least... but yes! Let's face it! ... at least as much as she would have enjoyed to offer such a gift to him!

Sensual and provoking? She would have been much more than that! The Princess… she would have been a mere amateur on this regard! Eh, sure. Just for one thing, she – she, T'Pol! - would have begun to dance completely dressed and then... little by little...

Sensual and provocative? Much, much more! Infinitely more!

Yeah. Sure.

Nevertheless… nevertheless for now, at this time, other was what she had to think of doing. She had to resort to some other of the… feminine arts she had learned she possessed, if she wanted to remedy the eyebrow that had guiltily turned up.

And it was not then so difficult. She had found out she was able to be sensual and provocative, but she had also discovered she was capable of being… flirtatious. Indeed, playfully and ironically flirtatious. Exactly how he liked.

With him, obviously. With him.

And that was precisely the time to be so.

T'Pol's eyes sparkled, as she spoke with the most serious and dignified of tones. "Vulcan females do not feel jealousy. I seem I've already said to you, my Lord."

Trip chortled. "Yes, actually I seem you've already told me. But - you know? - I'm not entirely convinced and, to put it all, frankly it seems to me that you, right now, are manifesting a certain amount of jealousy."

T'Pol took on an air between resigned and bored, while her eyebrow rose again a bit and, to be honest, even the corners of her mouth. "This is not about jealousy."

"Ah no?"

"No. Mine is simply a just and legitimate claim of ownership. "

"Eh?"

"Being I a vulcan female - and you constantly affirm you want me to remain the vulcan female I am - I can not share with other women, whether in the flesh or painted in a book, whether they are me or other from me, what is mine. The man who is mine. Who belongs to me. To me only.

T'Pol's eyes glowed. "You."

Trip, for a long moment, stood silent.

Hard to find something to say. Very difficult.

Then he shook himself. He smiled. "Okay. Got this message, too. "

And then he laughed. "Ah, these vulcan females! Very difficult to handle. Definitely. But how wonderful!"

"These?"

Trip chuckled merrily. "This one. You."

T'Pol relaxed. She lowered her head and lay back on Trip again. "Very well."

"Okay." Trip chuckled again, archly. "Let's stay so, then. Indeed, maybe we could even think to avoid further distractions on my part. Or even yours. Let me pull out my hand from between your thighs. Indeed, look. Let's clothe ourselves. Let's sit still and quiet and ..."

"Adun! Do not exaggerate!"

"I beg your pardon?"

"There may be a happy medium. A _logical_ happy medium."

"Oh. And what?"

T'Pol rubbed against Trip. Her thighs moved in such a way to make sure that his hand flowed on her skin, against her flesh, at safe distance from the powerful gravitational attraction of her... black hole, but still well-positioned to exert enough influence on her.

"This."

"Ah. I see."

"Do we want to move forward, now, my Lord?"

"Okay, vulcan doll. Let's move on."

He resumed reading.

A naughty thought peeped in his mind, as his mouth opened to speak.

 _Until next time, sweetness of my heart, until next time. Apparently your Pon Farr is working hard._

* * *

It took quite a while before one of the two slaves managed to stammer something. And, strange as it may seem, it was the human one. Just she. Just the one who, between the two slave girls, had brought the Princess on that perilous route.

And just she burst out with a rush of broken words full of wonder and disbelief.

"You... you... you... you... you... you have... you have intention to... to... to... to strut your stuff on... in... in... in this way out... out there? In front... in front... in front... in front of all, my Lady?"

* * *

"Mh. _Strut your stuff on._ Interesting way of expressing yourself. And you have grasped its meaning, babe?"

"I have got wind of what it meant."

"Ah."

* * *

The Princess smiled craftily.

She lowered her arms and... "Well, why not?"

Her voice was as sly and mischievous as her expression. "If I have to challenge him, then may I do it in full! Don't you believe that he'd love immensely that I perform in this way in front of him? And for him alone?"

"Oh that's… that's… that's sure!"

"So then, be it for the others what he would like it to be only for him!"

The two slaves stood silent for not a few seconds, their eyes wide open and in the purest amazement.

Then, the human slave girl, she again, broke out. Uncontainable.

"Of course! Certainly! That's the way! Make him die, my Lady! Make him die by anger and helplessness and by... and by..."

The other slave, the elven one, uttered the final word.

"Jealousy."

* * *

"Ah! But so... so, it is said openly! I mean... even the elven slave says it. Sure. Challenge. Uncovered challenge against the Nameless One. To assert the Princess' indomitable will, to make him understand clearly that never he will be able to dominate her like he thinks he can do. Dangerous. Extremely dangerous, evidently. Without knowing where it will end. But, in addition to that... also... well yes... also the intention, open and clear and now patently stated, to make him jealous!"

Trip looked down at T'Pol. And now he saw that she had raised her head towards him and her deep eyes and lustrous were watching him from below.

"But, sweetheart ..."

T'Pol preceded him. "I know, I know, Adun. I know what you want to say to me."

"Well..."

"Possible that you have not grasped the reasons - the real reasons, the reasons of her heart - of the why of the Princess' challenge towards the Nameless One? This, you want to tell me. "

"Well, frankly ..."

"Possible that you - you T'Pol - have not realized that this challenge is also at the bottom a pretext, the way to force - or to try to force - the Nameless One to recede, to uncover himself, as I - I Charles Tucker the Third - have done with you - you T'Pol - when I - I Charles Tucker the Third - have made you - you T'Pol - savour the bitter bite of jealousy? Is not this, what you would want to tell me, Adun?"

"Oh, Hon, please! I did not know what to do. I... I had to find a way ..."

"And you've found it, T'hai'la. Thank to Surak, you have found it. And... it worked."

Trip lowered his face and kissed slightly T'Pol's forehead, who leaned her head back on his chest.

"And... will it work also with the Nameless One?"

An unmistakable smile blossomed on T'Pol's lips.

"Judging from what I have already made you understand about the developments of the uneasy relationship between the Princess and the Nameless One, I think you can prefigure some kind of response, Adun."

"Ah, yes. But there is a not small difference between him and you, sweetness of my heart. I mean, you, at most, could have just remained to wallow in your jealousy. He instead... well... he..."

"He's a little more dangerous than me?"

"Well, maybe he does not know the vulcan nerve pinch technique, but..."

"Curious, Adun? You want to know how it will happen that it will be demonstrated what I told you, namely that you were not wrong about that issue, the one about _… 'the heart that deceives the mind that does not want to recognize the truth'_ … can be translated into reality?"

"Well..."

"Are you curious to know how it can be true what I had not grasped when I read on my own the fable and you brought me to understand?"

"Well... all things considered..."

"Are you curious to know how it can happen that the Nameless One, in seeing that what is his is shown – indeed shows itself - so blatantly to the others against his will, doesn't make rags of the Princess and of those, the two slave girls, who he understands well that brought her and allowed her to do so? "

"T'Pol! Of course I'm curious! I..."

Something... a giggle. Yes. Exactly a giggle. And it was the voice of T'Pol. "So then, my Lord, read on. You can't want me to infringe the suspense. I know you love it so much."

It was not easy for Trip to hold up his mandible before it could collapse down miserably, but, somehow, he succeeded.

For God's sake! Other times he had already had such a thought and this conviction was getting rooted in him more and more.

 _He had created a monster!_

Then, once the mandible regained its most appropriate position, it - the mandible - found itself being below a mouth that was smiling broadly.

For the devil! Sure! A monster! But how beautiful and wonderful - and how smart and intelligent - was this monster!

 _ **His**_ _amazing monster!_

He laughed with his mouth and heart. "God forbid, babe, God forbid! Ruining the suspense is a crime that knows no appropriate punishment!"

His hand gripped the flesh of T'Pol's thigh, who closed her eyes, relishing the gesture. The hand was no longer there where it had been, but nevertheless it could still act, of course not precisely equally, but, anyway...

"Let's go ahead!", she heard him say. "Let's go ahead!" And then his cheerful cackle. "It will never be that I - just I - spoil the suspense!"

* * *

The word boomed in the soul and mind of the Princess.

Reverberated inside her.

Rolled down in the recesses of her heart.

And she recognized the truth that that word was carrying with it.

Jealousy.

Of course. Sure. And why not?

But this was part of her challenge. Just so. A part. And was just a small part.

Making him die by... yes, just as the human slave girl had said... by anger and helplessness and...

And even by jealousy. Why not? WHY NOT?

What better way, despite the impotence in which she was now, of saying loudly, indeed with facts, that she, in spite of everything, was free? That she did not belong to him? That she was not a thing of which he could do everything he wanted with impunity?

A hazardous but worthy retaliation.

Venturous. Extremely dangerous. Oh yes, that was sure.

Would he kill her? Would reduce her to shreds?

So then? Wasn't this infinitely better than the life that now expected her?

This, in truth, was her hope.

That he, blinded by fury, would put and end to her existence, sparing her a life of suffer and humiliation.

Sure. That was her purpose.

And what other, otherwise?

What other purpose could she ever have?

 _What other!?_

And her mind refused to go further.

It didn't want to admit that what more than anything mattered for her heart was that he could feel that feeling.

Jealousy.

Only that.

The rest - the assertion of her free will against him - was nothing, in reality. It mattered less than nothing compared to the intention, the longing to make him jealous.

Because… because maybe… in feeling so… he… he could have taken the decision to… to…

But the Princess' mind refused once more to admit the truth. It didn't want to acknowledge why her heart wanted her to challenge him. And so, in that way. By offering to others what was his. And so brazenly. So shamelessly. Even... even by thinking of dancing before the world just as... just as she had there, in front of the two slave girls. Inside the protective closed space of the tent.

Her mind didn't want to admit, not yet, that it - and not just unconsciously - was allowing itself to be misled by the heart.

Didn't want to admit, not yet, the absurd, concealed hope of that heart.

The real reason why it pushed her to be willing to take such a big risk.

Even to dance in front of the world in the way she…

 _In the way she would have wanted to dance in front of him._

 _And only for him._

* * *

"But... but Honey! Clearer than that! How have you done not to realize..."

T'Pol could not help but snort. "I'm not as experienced as you're, my Lord, in things regarding jealousy and about how to use such a sentiment for one's own purposes and ..."

Suddenly she realized how unjustly offensive her words could be for Trip.

She quickly adjusted the tone of her voice, by making it very, very sweet, and just as quickly hurried to complete her sentence certainly not in the way it originally was going to be said.

"... And I beg you to remember that the Princess is me; we, she and I, have the same limits."

At those words Trip dropped the PADD to allow his arm to shake to himself strongly T'Pol.

"It is not about limits, sweetheart. It's about having the courage and the ability to embrace the different, to overcome the boundaries of the obvious. And the Princess will have this courage and this ability. Just like you did."

T'Pol sighed with happiness.

The day when some idiot among the members of her race had had the idiotic effrontery to ask her how the hell she could have made up her mind to fall into the arms of a Human, she would have no difficulty finding the right answer.

 _Do you realize what sort of a wonder of a Human you're talking about?_

Worthier answer, there couldn't have been.

She sighed again. And to Trip well clear rang the contentment that transpired in that sigh.

And then, just then, with the sense of timing that was his own and with the innate ability he possessed of understanding when it was time to dampen the impact of emotions inside her, he let out a chuckle, mild and peaceable. "Certainly, it is really true."

T'Pol was alarmed a little, but not too much. That chuckle did not bear any trace of his usual sarcasm.

"What, Adun?"

"You and the Princess really are the same person, equal in every way, not just ..." He laughed softly again. "... in the beauty."

Well! It was true. It was not worthy of a true vulcan female to feel the ears get hot of pleasure. But what could T'Pol ever do? It was priceless to feel your ears and your heart get warm by the compliments of your Adun.

Ignoring the heat of her ears, T'Pol managed to ask with a small voice, a dreamy breath of voice. "In what else are the Princess and I equal, T'hai'la?"

She knew he was going to pour on her one of his usual cheeky and... and damn truthful quips, but it was stronger than her. She… - damn Adun! - she loved to be lovingly teased by him! Because... because there was always Ashaya in the quips he made on her. Even in those that at first glance could sound nothing but acrid. She had just to see to it that she were able to grasp them with her heart, instead of trying to do it with her mind. Not too much vulcan? Sure. But she had learned the hard way that being too much vulcan demanded a price to big to pay. A price that couldn't be paid!

And her instinct - strange for a Vulcan, but she had by now learned to the perfection that instinct existed. And how! - did not deceive her.

"We have already said it, but now, in reading these lines... damnit, T'Pol! It's impossible you're not the Princess! Only someone who's you, can be so stubborn!"

T'Pol, despite everything, despite her previous thoughts, could not help but flare up.

Her head snapped upward. Her eyes burned his. "Husband..."

But the flame in her eyes died in the warm smile of his.

"But think, my babe! The Princess now understood, she knows. Even more, she has fallen into the deepest despair at the thought of having denied to the Nameless One what she now would like desperately to be able to give him again. And, yet, she refuses to admit that her challenge - her dangerous, risky challenge - is nothing else than an attempt, equally desperate than her heart, to retrieve in some way - absurd, desperate, in fact - what she has lost."

He grinned, with sweet malice. "Would you deny this, my sweetheart? Would you deny to find yourself in such a way of doing?"

T'Pol could not. And how would she have been able to do it? Okay to be... be stubborn, but... but there were limits. Even for her. For her stubbornness.

So she could do nothing else but stay silent to watch - a little peeved, but, above all, undeniably contrite - his mischievous smile. Mischievous, sure. And yet... yet strangely warm, with a warmth that warmed the soul.

And at that moment, just then, he - her unpredictable and brainy Adun - said... something.

He said openly what was hidden inside his smile and inside his quip.

And she understood why that smile of him was warming her soul so much. And realized that that phrase, the one that she would have found herself to say to the foolish member of her own breed who had dared ask her how it was possible that she had ended up into the arms of a Human... that phrase was not correct. It was not complete. Other words should have been added to it.

Her heart swelled in hearing his words. The deep, true meaning of his smile and of his quip.

"But on the day when the Princess will be capable - and she will be capable, as you're leading me to understand - of surrendering entirely to her heart, of following it, just as you've been capable of doing, my love, then... that day... there will be no longer darkness for the Nameless one. I'm sure. There will only be an endless happiness. Perhaps... "A shadow crossed his face."... perhaps destined to be smashed, to be torn apart in the relentless claw of an adverse fate, the same fate that made him the cruel and lonely and unhappy beast he is. Maybe it will be the happiness of a single, fleeting moment, but ..." The shadow quickly vanished and Trip's face lit up. "... but that moment will last forever for him. That happiness will be with him forever and everywhere. Wherever he..." A shadow, again, grim and sad, on his face. "... wherever he will be."

Then, as fast as it had reappeared, the shadow faded away. "Yes. That happiness will be there always. And will be immense. It will be ..." His face grew beaming. "...it will be the same that you have given me, when you decided to surrender... completely... to your heart."

And that heart, that of T'Pol, started to thump wildly, on hearing those words.

She lowered herself again, all reclined on him, trying to fight the lump she felt in her throat.

This time he, her Adun, her K'diwa, her T'hai'la, her beloved, had failed. He had by no means been able to dampen the storm of her emotions. He himself... he had let himself be carried away by the strength of his own emotions.

But... yes! It was the right thing! There are times when it must not be done! Times when you must not suppress your emotions! Because it is not destructive emotions. It is emotions that make you fly without having wings!

The emotions that only he - he only and he alone! - was able to give her!

Yes. The sentence that she should have said to that potential, stupid member of her own breed was absolutely not complete.

She should have added...

 _And do you realize that I - I! Precisely I! I, T'Pol! - I got the crazy good fortune of having him? Of... of being his? That for me, to embrace me, to make me fall between them, his arms exist! For this they are made! And to fall between them am made I!_

With a huge effort, T'Pol managed to find the strength to speak.

"Let's go..." Damn! How sounded choked, her voice! "Let's go forward, T'hai'la, please."

Trip took up back the PADD and obeyed, smiling happy to the world and to himself.

* * *

The Princess did not delay further.

She did not allow her mind to go deeper.

She did not allow her heart to speak clearly; did not allow the hope that harboured in it to show itself in full light.

T'Pol managed to ignore the sly, triumphant smile that she sensed perfectly well that hovered on Trip's lips while he read.

The Princess' face turned serious and severe.

And serious and severe was her voice.

"It's about time. Let's go."

And, by decision, she's headed for the exit.

But she stopped. She was forced to stop.

By the sharp tug she felt at her neck.

The chain.

The chain had reached its maximum extension.

The chain whose existence she had forgotten.

But that existed.

And that was reining back her.

She turned abruptly and looked at the two slave girls, who had remained behind, with wonder, almost. And with consternation.

But she had no need to do anything else. Not even to ask.

The small, devilish, human slave girl...

* * *

"Devilish. Oh my gosh! This is certainly my own work. Surely it is me the one who wrote it!

"Trip!"

"Oh... ahem... sure, sure. Let's not to get distracted. The suspense, the suspense, for devil's beard!"

* * *

The small, devilish, human slave girl was watching intensely her companion.

And this one was watching her, with the same intensity. And there was uncertainty on her face. And indecision. And fear.

Incredible was the sweetness with which the human slave girl addressed her companion. Her sister.

"Our Princess will not abandon us, sister." Sister. She too used that word. "She won't go away, won't run away, once free. And will defend us. She will know how to protect us from the wrath of our Lord and Master. She ..." Her gaze shifted, full of meaning, on the Princess, who was watching and listening with keen and puzzled attention. "... she has the means to do so."

For a moment the elven slave girl stood still and silent. Almost it seemed that she was about to wring her hands.

Then she shook herself. She nodded, as on her face was painted an intense and determined expression.

Her right hand ran to the bracelet that encircled her left wrist and, with a decisive gesture, the hand unhooked the bracelet.

Then, with that in hand, she walked resolutely toward the Princess.

She stopped in front of her.

Her gaze lingered for a moment on the visage of the Princess, who was staring at her, her eyes full of questions.

Then the girl's face turned upwards, towards the chain, and, while her left hand grabbed the chain so as to lower it in the same time that the Princess - instinctively understanding even without understanding for real - stepped ahead to slacken the chain and facilitate the slave girl's action, her other hand, the right one, the one that was holding the bracelet, went, it too, to the chain. To a precise point in the chain. To a precise ring, that she identified counting with her eyes the rings from the first at the bottom, as it appeared clear to the Princess.

It was a ring that was more or less about one meter or perhaps something more away from the one that connected the chain to the collar that imprisoned the Princess' neck.

The bracelet was positioned so as to adhere to that ring. Something... a sort of small wedge... snapped in the bracelet.

The Princess could see it clearly.

The small wedge slipped inside the ring.

It expanded, filled completely the ring.

It twirled on itself, against the metallic circle of the ring.

There was an imperceptible noise, some sort of a slight snap. And the chain, the long tract of it that, starting from that ring, climbed up aloft, toward the top of the pole to which it was stuck, fluttered free.

It floated in the air and fell to the ground with its end cut off. Away.

It piled up in messy spirals on the floor.

The Princess looked at the spirals of the chain that lay wrapped on themselves, unmoving, on the ground.

Her gaze raced upward to see the chain section which, starting from those spirals, lost itself in the upper, ending at the big ring fixed on the top of the pole.

Then, her eyes went down on the elven slave.

She was looking at her, still holding up the chain - or, rather, the extreme of that part of it that had remained attached to the Princess collar - through her bracelet, with its previously hidden wedge still inside that ring, earlier only one among many, now the last of the short length of chain that had stayed stuck to the iron collar that imprisoned the Princess' neck.

The slave girl was staring at her, intently, with eyes that betrayed plenty of emotions.

Fear, hope, trust, expectation.

Was staring at her just as hard as she - the Princess - was gazing her.

And her gaze - the gaze of Princess - also betrayed, it too, a myriad of emotions.

Confusion, astonishment, disbelief, incomprehension and, above all...

The voice of the human slave rose, soft and calm, to answer the question that the eyes of the Princess expressed far more than how any of her words could have done.

"My companion is the custodian. She is entrusted with the heavy responsibility of guarding and maintaining safe and intact all the slave girls who are here."

The voice was silent a moment, then it rose again.

"It may please our masters, the men to whom we belong by will of our Lord, to keep us in chains. We are slaves. Or, and this is what actually happens in most cases, it may be necessary that one of us has to be chained. When she is rebellious or unruly or... dangerous. As... as in your case, Princess. Or…" The maiden looked intently at the Princess. "…even simply because it is necessary to make her aware, tangibly, of her state. Of her destiny. Just as it's for you, my Lady."

Another pause. Long and tense.

"But never any slave girl must run risks or dangers, simply because it's denied to her the chance to escape them due to a slavery chain. Our Lord and Master wants what belongs to him to be preserved from any damage. Only... only he can rage, if he wants to do so, over what is his. And everything is his, here. Even the slave girls he gave his men or, and even more so, those... _the one_... he wants for himself."

The Princess visibly winced at these words, but said nothing. The human slave girl had not yet finished.

"My companion is the one who has the task, important and heavy, to ensure that nothing harmful can happen to the female slaves. For this she has the key to any chain that can be used, your chain included, as you could see. If, by some circumstance, it becomes necessary to free a slave from any chain that can prevent her from saving herself, she and only she can do it. She and she alone has the key and knows how to do it. As she did with you. Even if..." The dark, deep eyes of the human girl stared with acute intensity at the Princess. "... even if no danger loomed over you, Princess."

A whirlwind of thoughts began suddenly to swirl in the Princess' mind, but she had way not even to try to decipher them, to attempt to put a bit of order in them.

The other slave, the elven one, moved. She moved her hand.

There was another soft snap. The eyes of the Princess ran to the ring of the chain still trapped around the wedge of the bracelet.

The wedge pulled back. It freed the ring. The tract of chain that was still fixed to the neck of the Princess fell down abruptly.

It dangled, swinging in front of her, hanging from her neck.

The elf-maiden, with smooth and precise movements readjusted to her wrist the bracelet, without looking at the Princess. Then, still without watching her, she leaned a little and reached out to grab the dangling end of the chain.

Then she looked up.

Two beautiful, deep eyes that anchored in those of the Princess.

Without speaking, without ceasing to stare at the Princess with that dumb and deep look, she straightened up and pulled up the chain, for then putting it in the hand of the Princess, who took it without even thinking about what she was doing.

The slave girl continued to stare at the Princess. Then, finally... "You..." How soft, how low, how feeble was her voice! "... are free, my Lady."

* * *

Trip stopped reading. But not because he had anything to say.

It was that word, that term, all it carried with it.

It was the way the slave girl was described uttering it.

It was a matter of a moment, just a moment.

A moment in which he felt T'Pol's breath get faster.

Then the moment passed.

He continued reading.

* * *

 _FREE!_

And the whirlwind of thoughts began again to swirl furiously in the mind and soul of the Princess.

She was free!

She... she could go away! She could escape!

But... but to go where? To do what?

Naked. And helpless. Unarmed. With no one beside her.

She would have been defenceless and helpless prey for anyone she could meet. And in this case, a practically inevitable case, there would have been no doubt about her fate. Killed. Or, much more likely, condemned to all sorts of disgusting bed games and corporal and mental abuses.

Or, and this was what far more probably would happen, she would have been nabbed in no time at all by her previous captors. And in this case, a case that, rather than inevitable, was to be defined as certain... in this case there would have been even less doubts about her fate. Killed. Once again. Or, in such an eventuality, much more probably condemned to be tortured and tormented without rest in every thinkable and unthinkable way.

Oh sure. She would have fought. Perhaps she would also have been able to demonstrate how true it was what he - **he!** \- had sardonically said to mockingly explain the reason for her chain. Not without casualties of the enemy camp her catch would have been!

But the end would still have been inevitable for her.

And maybe... No. For certain!... it would have been better that way. Better to go away, forever, there, in the place from where there was no return, rather than living the life she now - especially now! After what she had done - would have been her fate! Indeed, she would have had to seek death, should have avoided capture at any cost!

Sure. Sure! SURE!

All true.

ALL TRUE!

But... it was not this.

 **It was not this!**

There was… there was Atana!

Atana. Could she leave Atana there? Atana. Her handmaiden and friend. Atana. Who had not hesitated to go towards death for her. Atana. That she knew she was still alive, there. And prisoner and slave. There.

But it was not that either.

 **Not even that!**

If she had fled... and, certainly, neither of the two slaves could nor even less wanted to hold her... what would become of them?

They had entrusted themselves to her. They were willing to face the wrath of their cruel and merciless Lord and Master for her!

They thought, they believed, they were certain that she would have been able to protect them.

That she... _she had the means to do it!_

Yes! So had said the human slave. And the elven slave had believed her. She, too, was convinced!

She had the means to do it!

Yeah. Maybe it could have been. _So it would have been._

If she had not rejected him.

And then, in this case, there would have been no chain to break.

But she had rejected him.

She had refused to admit what her heart had imposed to her body to do.

She had stolen from him the last hope of not being the lonely beast without a soul that the grim nature - and the Humans and the Elves - had condemned him to be.

And had stolen from herself the Prince - much as different he might be from any Prince she was looking for - that she had been seeking.

 _That she_ _wanted._

But... but the two slave girls were convinced she had... the means to protect them.

They were convinced of this because...

The cloak.

 _His cloak._

The black cloak with which, although at that moment, the moment it had happened, she could certainly not know, he had wrapped her.

 _To protect her._

Could it be true that, in spite of everything, she had the means... yet?

Could it be true that she still had them?

But then... had this any importance?

Escaping. Fleeing. Atana. The two slaves.

But yes. But yes! BUT YES!

 **Sure sure sure!**

But it was not this.

 **IT WAS NOT THIS!**

What it was...

The Princess' brain whirled dizzily. It whirled, it whirled, it whirled...

But it stopped at last. And light and clarity finally dispelled murkiness. And any more or less unconscious attempt not to want to realize.

 _What it was…_ **was that she did not want to run away!**

She wanted to stay there!

She wanted to... she had to...

 **She had to challenge him!**

She had to show him... had to show him...

She had to make him feel... anger.

And helplessness.

And... **jealousy!**

She had to make him feel that she was not his tamed and subdued slave girl and even less his personal sex doll, his sex slave.

She had to make him feel anger and helplessness. and...

JEALOUSY!

 **JEALOUSY!**

 **JEALOUSY! JEALOUSY!**

 _ **JEALOUSY!**_

Was this the best way to proclaim her end?

Yes. Probably yes. Presumably yes. Almost certainly yes!

Alright then! So be it! So be it that everything ended so!

But at least... at least she would be avenged, somehow! She would have revenged herself of everything! Even... even of the fact that... he had enslaved her in all ways, even... even by taking hold of her heart!

There was nothing else that her insane act, her crazy challenge, the jealousy she wanted to arouse in him could bring along, in spite of anything the two slave girls could think in this regard.

There was nothing else.

Nothing else!

 _It wasn't... it wasn't possible that the result of her mad defiance could be that his cloak could protect her yet!_

* * *

"Hon!"

T'Pol shifted. She lifted her head. She looked at Trip sideways, with uncertain eyes. "Yes. You are right. It's so, Adun. "

There was no need for him to explain to her what was behind that _'Hon!'_

Her head fell back on Trip chest. She closed her eyes. "The princess understood. Her heart won. Her mind is clear now. Confused, but clear; at least sufficiently. It was... it was me the one who did not understand."

Trip smiled, as his hand clutched once again T'Pol's thigh. "Well, it seems that in the end the winner is you."

T'Pol was silent. She knew what he wanted to say.

"In this fierce competition between stubbornnesses, apparently it's yours the one that prevails." He laughed. "But I think it's only a matter of different circumstances."

T'Pol raised her eyebrow. Trip chuckled. He couldn't see her visage, but it was as if he could.

"Babe, you, it seems to me, didn't want or could not understand what the Princess has finally realized, although she hasn't yet admitted in all clarity it with herself, although she still hides partially this into the confused and tortuous meanderings of her mind; that is that not only she wants to remain with the Nameless One, because - simply because - she wants to be with him, because her heart gave him not only her body but also her soul. She also realized, although confusedly, that her challenge has other purposes than those to claim that she is not his thing, since she is really his, now. By now, she knows that perfectly. So, why the challenge? Why she wants to follow the human maiden's suggestion?"

The eyebrow went down. It went next to the other for wrinkling along with it in the tension of the attention. T'Pol did not want to miss a single word of her T'hai'la.

"Her challenge, Hon, is a risky game that she wants to play in order to arouse the Nameless One's jealousy and to try, as well, to make so that he may think to go back from his decision. She wants to push him to do what in her soul it seemed to her he was saying to her, namely that he would have wanted to make her his Princess, the restorer of his soul. But he is the Nameless One. The Princess knows who he is. _What_ he is. Wild is his heart, or what remained to him in place of the heart. And so wild must be the way in which that semblance of heart may be compelled to beat yet, to go back, to forgive her, to return to be able to believe that there can be a bit of love for him too; that she - the Princess - can and wants to give him the love that may make him something different. No longer a beast. But a man. _A man_ , Hon."

T'Pol was silent, all focused on the words of her Adun. Trip knew how to speak, and very well, if he wanted. And when he did it, she was lost in the net of his words exactly as she was lost in the warmth of his arms.

"A great risk. A huge risk. It may be her life. Her real life, T'Pol. But it may also be her death. Or something worst than death. And her mind by now knows. It has ceased to let itself be fooled by the heart. But, you tell me, you had not understood all that, in your first reading or, even, in your subsequent lonely readings. Okay. But - I repeat to you - it is simply a matter of different circumstances."

T'Pol, this time, spoke, her voice doubtful and inquisitive. "What do you mean, T'hai'la?"

"T'Pol, think of the emotional drive to which the Princess is subjected. The world, all that was left to her of her world, collapsed on her. She finds herself being a slave, from the Princess she was. Dethroned and wandering, all right; in constant danger, all right. But still the Great Princess of the elven people. A living legend. She was aware of that. Now, instead, she is alone. And slave. And, as if that were not enough, she has fallen in love for the one who made her a slave. And, as if that were not enough, the one to whom her heart has fallen prey is... a cruel and murderous beast. Soulless and heartless. With the face of a beast. And with the ways of a beast. Much as dissembled inside human ways. And as if this were not enough, her heart has understood that she has the power to give him a soul again, to make him different from the beast that he is. But... yeah... she rejected him. Yes. As if all this were not already well more than enough, she has rejected him after giving herself to him, after she was about to restore in him the soul that he so desperately wants. And that she knows she can restore in him. That she _wants_ to restore in him."

T'Pol felt Trip's words descend deep down inside her.

"T'Pol... in these circumstances, one… or he understands or he dies! But not just by a physical death. By a far worse death! She, the Princess, in the end could not but understand, even if a little bit of reluctance to admit the whole truth in her is still there. The road, however, is now open and she can not help but travel it all the way. And this is what she desires. But one thing is being her, in those places, in those moments, in those circumstances. Another thing is being you - you, T'Pol. You! - here, in these circumstances, the present circumstances, aware of having what the Princess has not yet and she desperately wants to have. Your personal Nameless One. Me."

Trip stood silent again, while T'Pol drank his words.

Then he spoke again.

"I do not think I can be accused to sin of immodesty if I say that your world of rational logic has been restored - even if ..." He chuckled. "...luckily for me, not exactly as it was before - thanks to me, to my love for you."

T'Pol clung tightly to Trip. And, almost she cried out. "No! You do not commit any sin of immodesty, my Adun! If I am able to be me again, indeed something much better than what I was, it is thanks to you!"

Trip deposited a light kiss on T'Pol's soft hair. "All right. I am glad of that, obviously. But, if things are so, tell me Hon… how is it possible for a 'restored' vulcan female to grasp the acrobatic subtleties of the tricks of love? Only if you had been in the place of that other yourself who is the Princess and in those specific circumstances, you would have been able to grasp what she finally understood. To do that, my love, you ... "And Trip smiled proudly."... you needed me."

And T'Pol sighed. And not by regret.

Yes. It was true. She needed him to be able to understand what her Vulcan mind had difficulty to grasp. But he was there. He was always there. To make her understand. He had led her to be back a Vulcan, after... after what she had done, after she had sold her ratiocination, her vaunted vulcan logic, to the Trellium D, to try stupidly to be a different woman from the one he wanted with the purpose... _but how could one orientate in this damn labyrinth that was love?_... with the purpose to be the woman he wanted! But he had been there. He had allowed her to go back to be the woman she had been in all respects. IN ALL AND FOR ALL! Except one thing. One only. But unparalleled in its importance!

And this thing was the new knowledge that she now had of the limits of her logic, of her being a Vulcan.

And the knowledge that this was not a problem.

Because…

Because he was there!

BECAUSE HE WAS THERE!

T'Pol huddled in Trips' arms as if they were a...

As if they were a protective cloak!

A cloak!

A CLOAK!

 **A CLOAK!**

"Do we want... do we want to go ahead, my Lord? Do you remember?... the pathos ... the suspense..."

Trip laughed softly. "Sure. Of course. Let's continue, vulcan doll. "

* * *

The Princess shook herself. She imposed on her mind to quit swirling.

Imposed on her heart to quit beating wildly.

She straightened head and shoulders and her entire person.

Her gaze became sure and determined.

It wrapped, warm, for a long moment, the two slave girls, mute and motionless anxiously waiting.

Then the Princess nodded majestically and majestically, finally, she moved on.

She ascertained herself that the remaining of chain were still upon her forearm, holding it in the way in which the elven maiden had positioned it, as if it were a regal garment.

Then, majestically, she turned and, majestically, began to step forward.

Towards the exit.

She stopped just an inch in front of it.

She turned around.

She looked at the two slave girls.

A long, intense stare.

She spoke.

"What is the name of the two friends and handmaidens to whom I owe ..." The shadow of a pale smile creased the perfect arc of her lips. "...my freedom?"

The two slave girls looked at one another, as if looking for strength in one another.

Then, the human slave took a step forward.

"My name is Belle, My Lady."

"Belle." The princess smiled warmly. "It suits you, Belle."

The girl blushed visibly, as her eyes twinkled.

The Princess turned to the elven slave girl.

"And yours?"

The slave nearly jumped.

"M... mine is... is Ta'har'en, my Lady."

"High elven language. Do you know, my handmaiden?"

"Hi... high elven language?"

"Yes. Your origins must be lofty."

"Lo ..."

"And, in high elven language, your name means _'Splendour'_."

"Spl ..."

The Princess smiled warmly again. "I would say that also to you your name fits perfectly."

If the face of the human girl had turned red, this was nothing compared to the purple with which blazed the ears of the elf-maiden.

The Princess smiled again, with even more warmth.

Then she turned serious.

"Good." Her voice grew solemn. And, perhaps, a little bit uncertain. "Belle. Ta'har'en. Would you like to follow me in my stepping out of here? I really think your presence can be of big help to me."

There was a moment of hesitation on the part of the two girls and, certainly, not due to any uncertainty on their part about what they would have done.

Then they spoke in unison, as - in unison - they rushed forward towards their Princess.

"Yes"

"Sure!"

"Certainly!"

"We..."

"... will be..."

"...all time..."

"...at ..."

"...your..."

"... side ..."

"... o our ..."

"...Lady!"

The Princess laughed and, with a wave of her hand, she stopped them before they ruined against her.

"Very well. So then..." The smile disappeared. "... so then, follow me."

She turned slowly and faced the curtain veiling the exit of the tent.

She stood still for a moment.

Then, firmly, she covered the last step that separated her from the curtain.

Her hand shot out.

Grabbed the curtain. Lifted it.

The bright light of the radiant morning poured out over her.

She stood still for a moment yet, wrapped in that light, squinting at its vividness.

Then... she stepped inside the exit gateway.

With her chain still on her forearm in the manner of a royal stole, she took a small step forward.

Then another.

Then another yet.

She felt that the two girls were behind her, to hold the curtain that she had dropped.

She stepped forward one more time.

Another small and hesitant step.

Then another.

And she was out of the tent.

In the full light.

* * *

 _ **End of Chapter Thirty-seven**_

 _ **TBC**_

* * *

 **oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo**

 **oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo**

* * *

 _ **THE STORM!**_

* * *

 **(*)** Here I refer to events of my story "In the Hall of the Mountain King"

 **(**)** And here you should take a glance at another of my stories: "Shore Leave"


	38. The Ears of the Elves - Chapter 38

**The Ears of the Elves**

 **By Asso**

 **Chapter Thirty-eight**

* * *

 _Where it's about performances_ _._

* * *

 **The Ears of the Elves**

 **Chapter Thirty-eight**

 **oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo**

 **oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo**

* * *

The light.

The radiant morning light.

It enveloped everything.

It was warm.

Sweet.

It was... intense.

It did not hide anything.

The Princess blinked in its intensity.

No. It would not have been possible to hide in that light.

But... - she abruptly raised her head fiercely - … but she had no intention of hiding!

She breathed deeply.

She straightened her shoulders proudly.

The chain hanging on her forearm like a royal stole, the collar of slavery showing off around her neck like a precious regal necklace, she advanced resolute and majestic into the sun.

She moved away from the tent, in the open field. Behind her, the slight steps of the two handmaidens who were following her.

Her green eyes scanned the surroundings.

People.

Many people.

Humans.

Rather down-at-heel, in truth, but all dressed up as…

As warriors.

No sparkling armours, no shiny breastplates, no rutilant greaves or adorned and crested helmets. Leather jackets that had seen better times and rather threadbare leather pants, instead, not to mention the state of the footwears. And no helmets. Long hair, free in the wind.

But warriors.

Warriors, proud and determined. And fierce. In their ways and faces.

And, with them and among them, some women. Maidens. Elven and human. Not a few, actually. But not even many, after all. With her same collar. Dressed up exactly like Belle and Ta'har'en. And all of them definitely beautiful.

No one seemed to notice her presence. All, men and women, were engrossed in their businesses.

There were those who were caring about the horses.

Those who were sharpening the swords.

Those who were sharpening the tip of the arrows.

Those who were drinking.

Who were eating.

Who were resting.

Who were cooking.

And the women served their men.

Their men.

The Princess had this distinct impression.

They did not look like slave-girls. Despite their slavery collar and despite their revealing and significant apparel, they didn't look like that. They rather looked like women gleefully intent to help, each of them, their own men to do what these ones were doing. They were smiling and laughing and some of them squeezed or even stroked from time to time, with what appeared like a veritable demonstration of affection, the arm or hand of the respective master.

Who, ferocious and dark warrior or not, didn't shirk minimally to such a tender act.

While her mind was recording in surprise such an unexpected sight, the Princess continued to advance, her beautiful head raised proudly, her gaze prideful and like if careless of what surrounded her.

There was bustle.

A... busy bustle.

And not heavy nor gloomy.

But, gradually, as she progressively went forward among the people...

She sensed it.

She felt it clearly.

Slowly, little by little, the buzz ceased.

And she felt - she perceived it burningly - the eyes of everyone fixed on her.

The astonished gaze of all.

* * *

"Well, I'll bet! Well far from being a negligible spectacle! Let's say it clearly!"

"Husband!"

"Oh... ah... certainly nothing to do with the spectacle you are capable of offering to my eyes, my sweetness!"

"Mh..."

"And with no need to be... dressed in the way the Princess is undressed, sweetheart! Believe me!""

"Mh?""

"Well, I mean… bare or dressed, provocative or dignified, sexy o demure, you are the only spectacular woman for me!""

"Mh. Mh…"

"Do… do we go ahead, babe?"

"Mh… okay. Let's go ahead. But…"…"

"Yes?""

"Let's look at the substance, not at... the appearance."

"Of course, sweetness, of course!"

* * *

The Princess slowed bit by bit her pace, until she stopped, as she felt the blush arise to her cheeks.

She struggled to stem it. To restrain the tumult of her heart.

How... how had the little human slave said? Her beauty had not to feel shame!

So then... let's go!

She swelled her chest. Her florid, bare breasts showed off in all their sculptural loveliness.

Let's go!

The game started. Let's play it!

Without fear.

And without shame.

She started to move forward again, the damp freshness of the grass under her bare feet.

Slowly, this time.

And with deliberate... sensuality.

Still holding on her left forearm, gracefully bent, the chain hanging from her collar in the fashion of a precious garment. And letting dangle her other arm down, limply, along her side. And making sway, prettily but with decision, her pelvis at every step.

And the short, precious skirt made of nothing made its indiscreet work.

* * *

"My prized and esteemed Lord and Master!"

With some effort, Trip interrupted the reading.

"Y... yes?

"Would you mind removing from your eyes that horny look?"

"Ho... horny?"

"Just so."

"But... but... Honey, how the hell are you talking? From whom did you learn to use terms like that?"

An eye with the respective eyebrow rose together.

"Oh... well... I mean... vulcan doll, you should not absorb everything I say! I mean ..." Trip stopped. Better not to insist on this peculiar issue. Oh yes, definitely better. And yet... "But, sweetheart, would you like to explain how you did to see the... tone of my gaze, from your current position?"

The eyebrow and the eye came back down. "Do you remember, by chance, a certain Bond existing between us, my increasingly esteemed Lord and Master?"

"Ah, the Bond, of course, of course. How did I do not to think about it? "A mischievous smile appeared to his lips."You know, but think what a fool! - I have thought, quite simply, that, considering how much you know me and considering that we entered into the hottest part of the show offered by the Princess, you had smelled out that my gaze..."

"So I'm not mistaken!"

"Ha ha! So the Bond has nothing to do with that, huh? You just assumed that my look was horny. You continue to doubt me, my sweet heart of my heart."

T'Pol twisted her head upward and looked scowlingly at her insolent Human. "And am I wrong?"

"Yes, that is no, that is yes! Oh, in short, I ..."

"You what, my more and more esteemed Lord and Master?"

"Oh, well, T'Pol! It's true; I admit it, but ..."

"Trip! Remember that only I can hold your hand where you hold it now! And that only my breasts can be caressed by you!"

Eh? Oh for God's sake! This meant speak bluntly!

"But T'Pol! Sure! What the hell! Nevertheless you can not demand me not to feel what a man feels by picturing in his mind the... the performance the Princess is offering!"

Trip had barely finished speaking that it began to occur. And, in a way, it could not be otherwise.

T'Pol had thought of it as something she could even have been wanting to do, one day the other, for him. And… and honestly for herself too. For her own pleasure. The pleasure to give him even that. And to permit herself even this.

But now the time had come to actually do it.

Now!

Exactly Now!

And, in very truth, a thin voice inside her whispered to her that it was not at all the fault of her Pon Far.

Suddenly and vehemently she got up, literally sending Trip upside down to the ground, PADD included.

He did not even have time to realize what had happened.

He raised his head from the floor to watch T'Pol with astonished eyes

And, in seeing her, his gaze became even more astonished.

T'Pol - naked, proud, wondrous - was smiling!

Just like that!

But that smile... that smile...

Trip felt a thrill running along his back! A thrill that he was not even able to classify whether pleasant or not.

What… what was she going to do, that logical headless of his unpredictable vulcan doll?

Well. Certainly he would never have imagined what that inenarrable kissy doll of his vulcan better half had intention to do.

A quick, fluid, harmonious movement. And the forgotten blanket wrapped her gorgeous body. Completely. With no longer letting it be seen anything of the matchless and seductive loveliness before in full light.

Even the head was hidden. Just the face - just that - was still showing off. Still with that strange and enigmatic smile illuminating it.

Then... the blanket started to move.

T'Pol's body began to move!

It could be seen from beneath the blanket.

The hips. Which arched and swayed, hidden yet evident, pulling tight the unsuspected and improvised garment.

And the legs. The shapely thighs. Which moved with gracefulness from beneath it, showing, now and then, glimpses of their buxom beauty when the flaps of the blanket lifted under the push of the sensual rocking of T'Pol's pelvis.

T'Pol... T'Pol was dancing!

How the hell she was capable of dancing - and of dancing that dance! - well ... this was one of the mysteries that made her what she was.

But anyway, this was!

T'Pol was dancing!

And she was dancing a lithe dance of seduction!

Even more seductive and provocative in the immobility of her arms, which were not moving, which simply, hidden under the blanket, held up it, the only tenuous barrier between her naked loveliness and the gaze of the one for whom the dance was getting performed.

But Trip did not have time or way to realize.

The dance... it was not just a dance!

It was something more. Much more!

Slowly, without stopping those spectacular and sensual dance moves, barely discernible from under the blanket, T'Pol revolved on herself, still swinging sensually her pelvis.

Until she remained with her back toward Trip.

Then...

Then the dance stopped.

The blanket fell with lightness and settled down without moving around T'Pol's body, which remained motionless under it.

A long moment of bated immobility, then her hands let themselves be seen, from above her shoulders that he could see only from behind.

Slowly, the hands moved languidly.

They made so that the blanket went down.

T'Pol's nape appeared.

Then her neck.

Then the upper part of her bare shoulders.

The hands stopped.

They disappeared under the blanket.

It was the shoulders that began to move, as if, now, it were only them, her well-shaped shoulders, to dance.

Gracefully.

With sensuality

The blanket went down again.

One shoulder was discovered. Completely.

Then, gradually, also the other shoulder.

T'Pol's body moved lissomly.

The blanket moved again. She went down.

It went down again.

Centimetre by centimetre the naked back of T'Pol appeared at the sight of Trip.

All of it.

Until her hips.

On them, on their appetizing roundness, the blanket stopped again, propped up by the invisible play of T'Pol's hands.

At that point the dance started again.

The sinuous hips resumed to oscillate.

And slowly, very slowly, T'Pol turned back on herself again.

Until to show herself in front of Trip.

Naked by well below the navel up.

Covered by the blanket, held up by her hands, by just above the mount of Venus down.

The smile on her lips was still there.

The smile - and the look - of a bewitching siren.

The lithe dance continued.

Her hands opened.

The blanket fell down. It piled to the ground around T'Pol's feet.

Completely naked, still with that smile and with that gaze, T'Pol continued to move as if being dancing, making her hips sway sensually and moving her legs in elegant and sensuous movements without shifting herself a centimetre from where she was.

Her arms rose slowly.

They went up, twisting serpentine figures, until to be aloft above her head.

And at that point, the dance stopped.

And T'Pol stood motionless.

In that position.

Naked and wondrous.

And tremendously sensual and seductive.

The impish smile didn't abandon her lips nor did the soft and tempting gaze disappear from her eyes as her voice, low and husky and sensual, let itself be heard.

"What do you think of my own performance, my Husband and Lord? Can it rival that of the Princess?"

If Trip took a lot of time before he could answer, well... surely there's not to remain amazed, nor, much less, there is to be surprised if he - glued to the floor, unable to get up, eyes wide open in the wonder and in the splendour of T'Pol's sight - was just able to speak with the most gibbering of voices.

"I... I... I... th... th... think the Pr... the Prin... the Princess ha... ha... has r... r... really a l...a l...a lot of ground to c... c... c... cover before reach... before reach... before reaching th... th... the millionth part of your... of your... of your a... a... astounding performance, T'Pol!"

Motionless, if not for the alluring movement of her bare breasts, in one with her breathing; naked and beautiful like a Greek statue; her arms still raised above her head; the smile of Mona Lisa still lingering on her turgid and tempting lips; T'Pol replied in a soft tone and yet still sensuous as never.

"Understandable, she's yet well far from being completely me. Do not you think, my Lord?"

"I... you... she..."

T'Pol's arms went down until to cross on her chest. Her smile disappeared. Her eyes sparkled dangerously.

"So do not seek in her the very little of the very much that you can find in me."

Trip stood silent for a long time, his eyes fixed in the sparkling eyes of T'Pol.

Then, finally, he got up. Slowly. And slowly he approached her up to being in front of her.

Of her gorgeous naked body.

And naked like her.

His expression was serious and even a little alarmed.

And serious his voice. And thoughtful.

"I have to well understand how to handle your Pon Far, T'Pol."

And, at that moment and at those words, T'Pol's expression changed suddenly. Her eyes still sparkled, but it was a twinkle made of softness.

She threw herself on Trip. Her arms encircled him.

Her head leaned over his chest.

Soft and sweet it resounded from there.

"My Pon Far has nothing to do with my performance, Trip."

"Uh?"

"It is the expression of what I feel for you."

"T' ... T'P... T'Pol!"

T'Pol's head lifted. Her eyes stared at those of Trip with a tenderness and yet with an ardour, even, beyond description.

"I want to be everything to you, Trip. Not only your vulcan wife in facts. I want to be your lover, your concubine, your love slave, your sexual play. Your sex doll. Your sex toy. I want to be yours in all the ways it can be. Even your sex fantasy."

"Y... y... you..."

"And I do not want nor I can tolerate to have rivals in this as well as for anything may pertain to you." The ardour in T'Pol's eyes took definitely the upper hand. "Real or invented that this rival may be; existing or present only in your mind. I and only I, want to, can, have to turn on and satisfy your cravings, whatever they are. I, just me. Not even another myself."

The ardour grew even more. It became burning. It didn't even allow Trip to think of trying to stammer anything.

"Because no one - never - real or invented, existing or present only in your mind, will ever be able to feel for you what I feel for you. Nobody. Never. Not even another myself. Past or future. In this as in any other universe. Or even present, now, in any other universe."

Stammering out something? It was not even possible to manage to think of something, for Trip!

And the ardour in the eyes of T'Pol grew even yet. And a sudden glow - blazing and, together, mischievous - made it even more intense.

The smile - _that_ smile - reappeared on her fleshy lips, half-closed, enticing.

"And…"

It was a matter of a moment. Trip did not even realize.

He found himself on the ground, on his back, with T'Pol lying on him, her turgid lips - and wishful; and tempting - less than a millimetre from his.

He had even to struggle to really grasp what her hoarse and sensual voice was saying.

"… And no one - never - real or invented, existing or present only in your mind, not even another myself, past or future, in this as in any other universe or even present now in any other universe, will ever be able to give you the smallest of proofs that I am a liar by virtue of a performance even remotely similar to the performance that now I will put into practice to prove to you the truthfulness of what I say."

And her lips caressed his.

"A hell of a performance."

And her lips fused with his

And, in a sudden and inevitably transient resurgence of lucidity, Trip comprehended that he would have to wait for not a short while before he could discover in detail the Princess' performance.

* * *

 ** _End of Chapter Thirty-eight_**

 ** _TBC_**

* * *

 **oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo**

 **oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo**

 ** _Eh, these performances!_**


	39. The Ears of the Elves - Chapter 39

**The Ears of the Elves**

 **By Asso**

 **Chapter Thirty-nine**

* * *

 _Ah,_ _this_ _suspense!_

 **The Ears of the Elves**

 **Chapter Thirty-nine**

* * *

 **oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo**

 **oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo**

* * *

They were lying on the floor tight to each other.

How much time had passed?

Trip did not know.

A minute. One hour.

An eternity.

But what importance did it have?

T'Pol had never given him anything more beautiful.

 _Anything like this._

And to think that she had given him many and many times... things that no one could have ever imagined!

But like what he had given him this time...

Never.

Never. Really!

And…

 _And it was not her Pon Far_ , she had told him.

 _It was not her Pon Far…_

And it was true.

Though certainly her increasing being advancing along the road of her Pon Far was closely connected with the... stamina he had showed, as she herself had told him it would happen, it was not her Pon Far.

Pon Far was... was the loss of the light of reason. Was craving without passion. Longing without lucidity. It was yearning without...

It was craving. _Full stop._

And he knew it very well. There was no need it were T'Pol to enlighten him on the matter. He had searched and studied and absorbed and metabolized everything that could be useful to avoid being caught off guard - and not only about the Pon Far - to prevent her from feeling uneasy with him and maybe also because of him in some unpleasant and unexpected circumstances that could have occurred. He had done this even without her knowledge, still to avoid any embarrassment from her part. She deserved this and much more. She deserved all he could give her and infinitely more.

Yes. He knew very well what the Pon Far was.

But what T'Pol had just had given him…

There had been passion. There had been ardour. It had been… _a hell of a performance._

But there had been also an infinite tenderness.

T'Pol had been the most fiery-hot of lovers. She had given herself to him in all possible and impossible ways. She had been his wife and his concubine. Had been his sex slave, his sex doll. His sex toy.

 _His most fervent sexual fantasy._

 _The concrete and actual personification of the most audacious of his sexual fantasies, even of fantasies that he could never have thought of conceiving._

But she had been, above all and well beyond that, his sweet, tender, enamoured... woman in love.

 _Whit him_ _._

She…

She had kissed him with burning passion. She had made herself be kissed by him with burning passion. She had caressed him with burning passion. She had made herself be caressed with burning passion. She had devoured him. She had made herself be devoured. She had made herself be sucked, licked, bitten with burning passion. Had made herself be penetrated and conquered and possessed with burning passion.

More and more and more times.

 _Everywhere._

She had twisted and turned in spasms and shouted in the wildest orgasms. She had yelled with ardent pleasure every time she had felt his hot life liquid fill her.

 _Everywhere._

From… from whatever access road it'd invaded her.

All this she had been. And had done. All this she had given him.

But together with this…

 _Together with all this…_

She had kissed him with endless tenderness. And had made herself be kissed by him with infinite tenderness. Had stroked him with infinite tenderness. And had made herself be stroked by him with infinite tenderness. Had moaned by soft pleasure and warm joy under his tender caresses.

She had been female. THE female among females. And she had been a woman. THE woman among women.

She had shouted him the most ardent and most unrestrained raunchy words. And had whispered to him the sweetest and most tender words of affection.

Very simply… she had loved him.

 _SHE HAD LOVED HIM!_

As only a woman in love can love.

In all the ways which only a woman in love can know.

His mind was working.

While he - unconsciously - was tenderly stroking her tousled head resting on his chest… _his mind was working._

Yes. T'Pol's Pon Far would have been what she had told him it would be. She would get lost in her obfuscatory sexual craving. Would lose the mind light.

But wouldn't lose her love.

Her love for him.

And… there was a fact. A very, very important fact.

What other vulcan female had ever had what T'Pol would have?

 _A Pon Far made of love._

A Pon Far made of love…- He felt his heart swell with pride. - ... that would have been so thanks to him! Because he - a Human - had made T'Pol fall in love with him!

He... he had given her a gift ... _a gift_ _…_ _…_

A gift she deserved! Sure! She was unique! There was no other woman like her!

But... in any case... he - HE! JUST HIM!... had given her a gift that no other vulcan female have ever had, if not maybe in the remote times of Vulcan, the time of the warrior Princesses and their Champions. The forgotten time of vulcan Ashaya.

 _He has given her the gift of love._

 **Of** **ASHAYA!**

It had been difficult. Almost impossible. She had made him suffer. Tremendously. She had made writhe in pain both her and him. In the most stupid of pains. Of _futile_ sufferings.

But, in the end, she had surrendered.

She had surrendered to her heart.

She had surrendered to the love.

Trip's mouth went down to deposit a tender kiss on T'Pol's matted and sweaty hair.

"What do you say, vulcan doll? Could we go on reading?"

T'Pol's hushed voice resounded from down, from his chest, where her visage was buried.

"Can my just past performance be compared to the one the Princess seems to be capable of making you paint in your mind?"

The most cheerful laughter burst out from Trip's mouth.

"But do you want to joke, my babe? There is no performance that can be compared to yours! Whatever the Princess can do, your and only your performance will be painted in my mind, not to mention my heart!"

A distinct sigh of satisfaction was heard clearly. A vulcan sigh of satisfaction.

"Very well, in this case, let's go ahead; I agree with you that we do so." T'Pol's head stirred on Trip's chest. "Oh… I mean... of course your humble vulcan doll agrees!" Was there by chance some tiny hint of light irony, amid the emphasized (maybe a little too much) T'Pol's concern? "Not even to say!"

Trip chuckled softly without saying a single word in response.

Instead, giving proof of his considerable talent of agile gymnast, he, with a little bit of effort, twisting a little and even succeeding in not interrupting the sweet embrace that tied them, recovered PADD and blanket from where they had ended up staying.

He made sure that the blanket covered them and, somehow, he managed also to lean with his back to the front of the seat of the couch, fortunately practically next to them, while continuing to keep resting on his chest the head and bust of T'Pol, crouched against him.

He let out a satisfied sigh.

Then he started to read again.

* * *

Amazement, disbelief, astonishment.

The Princess could feel all this clearly and see it, too, in the faces of those - whether males or females - whose eyes, in her barefaced and nonchalantly ostentatious exhibition of sensuous and unconcealed nakedness, she could come across without letting herself be seen to move her head to look around.

 _Amazement, disbelief, astonishment._

And desire.

Increasing and irrepressible desire.

She could even be the female whom the Lord of that horde wanted for himself, but no one could bridle the desire.

And she was provoking desire.

A male, overbearing - _incoercible_ \- desire.

The Princess' heart was pounding wildly.

But what was she doing? As much as obsequious to their boss they could be, those ones still were fierce and bloodthirsty warriors. One hadn't to let himself be fooled by the unexpected sweetness they demonstrated towards their females - _towards their slave-girls_. Because that, in spite of everything, those females were.

Just as, in spite of that unforeseen sight, those men were warriors. No. Much more! They were... the Army of Darkness!

And... and a female like her, a female who would show herself to them in the fashion she was showing herself...

That one - that female - could also be the female, _the slave-girl_ , of their Lord and master... but...

 _But who could ever have stopped them when they, even one only of them, had broken the banks of own self-control?_

And nevertheless... nevertheless was it not this what she had wanted?

Was it not in this way that she had wanted things to turn out?

She had wanted to stir up the ardour of those who'd seen her.

This, she had wanted.

And this was happening.

Therefore...

Why ever to stop?

Oh no! There wasn't to stop!

It was necessary to insist, indeed!

And then, at this point, this was no longer possible.

She should not have started.

But she had started.

And now she could not stop.

There was no way anymore.

And, indeed, there was to do... more!

The Princess' demeanour grew even more cheeky and provocative.

Her body... her body had no longer any secrets for anyone's sight.

This was the path she had chosen to walk through, and this road she would trail!

Wasn't everything going how she'd wanted it to go?

It was going so.

And she had not to feel shame or fear.

Everything was proceeding in the right way.

Everything.

Except...

The eyes of the Princess darted restless all around, trying to conceal their unquiet movement.

 _Everything was going how it should have had to go!_

EVERYTHING!

EXCEPT...

 _Where was_ _ **he**_ _?_

* * *

"Oh, hell's bells!"

T'Pol budged in Trip's arms.

"Wait, Ashayam, do not be impatient. This is a crucial moment. Now I understand this much more than I could before."

"Mh... damn suspense!"

"Oh, my Lord, do not react like that, please! You know, I have the distinct feeling that this may be one of the parts written directly by you."

Trip grunted.

Touché!

Better to resume reading.

* * *

He...

He was not there!

She could... yes, she could have felt his presence even without seeing him.

But he was not there.

So...

So, of what utility could have ever been what she... what she was doing?

No sweet though risky revenge, nor... nor recovery about her mistake!

Only... Oh God of the Elves! ... only shame! Infinite shame! And...

And maybe ... or... or certainly... in spite of all the holy terror and blind obedience that those men could nourish for... _for him_...

A bad end!

An end unworthy of Princess Alel!

Prey... stupid prey ... of the lust that she herself had provoked!

* * *

"T'Pol…"

"Go ahead, T'hai'la, go ahead. I too... yes, I too felt myself dying when I read these lines without you, but remember that in the end he - the Nameless One - how would you say... will surrender to Princess just like the Princess has surrendered to him. "

"Yes, okay, but... but won't it happen by chance after the Princess... after the Princess ...?"

T'Pol's warm lips laid a slight kiss on Trip's chest.

"Go ahead, Ashayam, do not stop."

"T'Pol, do you know? I start to hate suspense!"

* * *

 _ **End of Chapter Thirty-nine**_

 _ **TBC**_

 **oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo**

 **oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo**

 _ **And**_ _ **you**_ _ **,**_ _ **my friends**_ _ **?**_ _ **Are you too starting to hate suspense?**_

 _ **Oh no, please!**_

 _ **Do not do it!**_


	40. The Ears of the Elves - Chapter 40

**The Ears of the Elves**

 **By Asso**

 **Chapter forty**

* * *

 _Do you think that T'Pol - even with all her proclaimed logic - possesses a genius to get into trouble? For nothing lesser than that of Trip? Well, you're perfectly right and her ability comes from far away. From long back in time._

* * *

 **The Ears of the Elves**

 **Chapter forty**

 **oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo**

 **oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo**

* * *

"Men!"

The voice rose loud and powerful.

Manly. Authoritative.

"Remember who you are!"

Imperious.

"Remember who she is!"

Threatening.

"Remember whom she belongs to!"

And everything stopped.

The excited voices, which, more and more intensely, had begun to let themselves be heard.

The craving, which was by now glaring and palpable.

And the Princess. Who stopped short and stood motionless. Every ostentatious sensuality, all of a sudden, being vanished. Only fear in her beautiful emerald eyes. The heart in the throat.

She stopped suddenly.

Without understanding if it could be stronger the relief. Or the surprise. Or the fear.

Of whom?

Of whom was that voice?

That voice - unknown and commanding - that had made cease, abruptly and in the bud, the mad ardour that she had insanely provoked?

But she didn't even have time to bring into focus.

" **Princess!** "

Strong. Clear. Shrill.

" **PRINCESS!** "

Her voice!

" _ **MY PRINCESS!**_ "

Atana!

 _ **ATANA!**_

It was her! Yes, it was her!

It was her who was calling her! Hers was that voice, astonished and horrified!

 **"PRINCESSSSS!"**

The Princess's head turned around abruptly.

Her eyes darted toward that voice.

 **Her whole body spun toward the voice!**

Everything else forgotten.

Inexistent.

And the Princess saw her.

 _She_ was there.

Atana.

Her sweet Atana!

Her handmaiden.

 _Her friend!_

 _ **Her confidante and diuturnal support!**_

Alive and kicking.

How... how **he** … had said that she was.

 _Alive and kicking._

And... beautiful.

Even more beautiful... - Suddenly the Princess realized. - ... even more beautiful with that inconsistent dress of slave that revealed and exalted her feminine forms.

Beautiful. With that astonished and appalled expression on her porcelain face.

That face that stood out, pale, _above the iron collar that encircled her delicate neck_.

The collar... the _slave_ collar. From where it started a chain.

Which was anchored to the pommel of a saddle.

Which was over a great and mighty fawn steed.

On which a man was sitting.

Tall. Slender. Athletic.

With a grizzled and short beard and long black hair streaked with grey.

Handsome and imperious.

Straight upon the saddle of the restless steed.

Straight and noble.

With two dark-gray, stern eyes that were staring at her.

And a tough and strong mouth.

The mouth of the man who had spoken.

Who had made finish at the very moment of its birth what she had aroused.

Who had saved her from ignominy, even if not from shame.

The Princess was desperately trying of entering the real world, of not being taken away from the storm that raged inside her.

Who... who was that man? Strong and imperious. And handsome. Different from the others. Who... who was riding that fierce steed! Not a banal horse, as those about whom many men were taking care!

The... the Master of Atana? The one to whom the… the… the soulless Lord... _– Wh… why had her heart to tremble as her mind murmured softly that word? Because… because_ _ **he**_ _could have had a soul again, if she hadn't denied it to him?_ \- ... the soulless Lord of that tenebrous horde had given Atana?

But sure! Of course that man was this! Wasn't perhaps Atana's chain fastened to his saddle?

But... but who was he?

 _Who was?_ And... and why had he - imperatively and seemingly without any fatigue - broken off everything? But not! Not why! Question was... question was...

 _How... how was it possible that he had been capable?_

And... Atana...

 _Atana..._

The Princess' lips moved mildly.

"Atana ..." A sigh.

Then a cry. " **ATANAAAA!** "

To her cry echoed the cry of Atana.

" **PRINCESSSSSSSSS!"**

And while the Princess was still incapable of moving, Atana snapped.

Once again she snapped.

As, without thinking twice, she had done when, ignoring any risk, she had scooted on over to her rescue.

But Atana's race was stopped abruptly.

The chain made her stop brusquely in her running.

For a moment she stood motionless, her trembling hands on the collar clenching her neck.

Then her sweet dark eyes rose.

The Princess saw it clearly.

Atana's eyes rose to her master.

 _Two pleading eyes._

And her master... that man... that Human... that human warrior among the other human warriors of that dark army, but... but not equal to the other human warriors that constituted it…

The man nodded gravely.

And with…

With understanding?

His hand ran to the pommel of his saddle.

Atana's chain fell down free.

Her gaze lingered for a moment on the knight.

Grateful.

And... what was that? What was that light in her eyes? A light…

 _It_ _was not mere gratitude!_

There hasn't been time for the Princess to linger with her fuzzy mind on that soft light in Atana's eyes.

Her handmaiden's head turned swift toward her.

Her bare and beautiful legs snapped.

A furious race from the not too much far away grassy ridge on which the rider was staying motionless on his tawny steed.

A race no longer hindered by any chain.

And Atana was in the arms of her Princess.

* * *

"Trip! T'hai'la! What are you doing?"

Trip sniffled. "Oh... here... well ..."

"Are you becoming emotionally moved?"

"Oh, bloody hell, in… in Malcolm's words! T'Pol! You know how I'm made!"

"Yes, I know. And, much as illogical it can be, that's why, among a mountain of other equally illogical reasons, my vulcan heart beats for you. Only Surak - _perhaps_ \- knows why."

Trip could not avoid it.

He sniffled one more time.

And with more force.

Then, with some embarrassment, but then not too much, and - it must be said - even with a not negligible dose of a not plainly displayed but nevertheless pretty evident amusement, he started to read again.

* * *

"Atana!"

"Princess!"

"My friend!"

"My Princess!"

"You're alive!"

"And you too!"

"Are you well? I felt dying when you..."

"I am well, Princess. I've been assisted and cured. And cared."

"Cared?"

Atana's eyes went back to that strange light.

"Yes, my Princess."

Then her eyes cloaked themselves with concern.

"And you, my Lady, how are you?"

And then, soon after, that look became a look of horror.

Atana broke away from the Princess' embrace.

Her eyes stared into hers.

"How... how ..." Her voice was faltering, uncertain, insecure. "You... dressed like that ... like ... like... and... and why... and why you ... in front of everyone... why you... why ... how... your demeanour... how... how... why...?"

The Princess's mind precipitated into the purest dismay. How... oh how!... could she explain to Atana that she... that she...

"It was not planned for you to expose yourself in this way to everyone's sight, Your Highness Princess Alel."

That man! His voice. Refined and severe.

He had approached them, his great steed left where it was.

Neither she nor Atana had noticed anything, engrossed as they were in their reunion.

But now the man was there, beside them. In the bated silence of all.

And...

And that man had saved her from having to give embarrassing explanations, explanations impossible to provide!

The Princess' uncertain gaze turned toward the man, while her hands clutched spasmodically those of Atana.

The man's gray eyes sparkled with an amused light.

"Nor, much less, that you, Princess, would have assumed, in front of everyone, an attitude that was and is destined only to our chief."

The amused look became serious and stern.

"To your Lord and Master."

Those words triggered something in the Princess.

Who was that man? Who was that man who could exert such a great authority over that savage brigade of truculent murderers?

Who was that man who allowed himself to possess as a slave-girl her handmaid and friend and treat her just so, like... like a slave, making her submissive to him with a simple nod? Who seemed even to have from her not only a… a banal obedience, but, even, a respectful - **a wanted!** \- obedience? If not... if not... even... something more? Something… what?

But above all, who was that man who allowed himself to reproach her? The Princess Alel? To... to remind her that she... that she, now, had a master?

She... she had no masters!

And if she... if she'd done what she'd done, it was because she... it was because she ... she was the only mistress of herself! And, of herself, she could do what she wanted! Nobody! No Lord and Master could order her to behave and act in any way that was not the way she wanted!

And it had nothing... it had nothing to do with her behaviour that that horrid Being ... that horrid Being... had crept into her! In all... in all senses!

* * *

"Well. I do not know if I was right about who should get the palm of victory in terms of stubbornness between you and the Princess, my sweetness. Certainly, it just seems to me that she is working really hard to get it."

A distinct sigh, not to say something more clearly prosaic, was heard come from T'Pol.

"Could you be so kind, my Lord, not to interrupt reading for the umpteenth time? I seem I have clearly told you that we are in a crucial moment."

Trip chuckled rather noisily. "Ah, I understand. Nothing but a comprehensible surge of regal pride, right? Oh, well! Totally logical. You know, you and the Princess are..."

"The same person, I know, I know, my esteemed Lord and Master. As well as you do. So, since we both know it perfectly, then you might as well..."

"Keep on reading. Okay. I do it right away, my sweet and docile vulcan doll."

But it was not easy for Trip - although he perfectly realized that really the moment was crucial in the context of the story and despite its dramatic relief - to stop laughing in his sleeve while he resumed reading.

Yeah. True. But...

But wasn't it maybe also because, in the end, he had a certain fear of knowing how things would go, and, as it was usual for him, he was trying to dampen things not to be overwhelmed?

He knew himself well, very well. And he could also be full of flaws, but the flaw of hiding his head under the sand... well, this was a flaw that really he had not.

Which was valid for whatever and for anyone, including himself.

Okay, by now he knew well that in the end love would have triumphed between the Princess and the Nameless One, or what the hell it could be love for the infernal Being that everything had conspired to push him to become. T'Pol, for once, had been clear about that, although it was still to be defined the end result of that love, its outcome. What seemed so much to upset T'Pol.

But... that fact... the fact that the moment was crucial...

Of course it was, but the feeling, not quite pleasant, was that... well, yes, in short ... that the Princess, driven by her revitalized and also righteous... - for the love of God! More than righteous! And at all justified! - ... from her righteous pride, was on the verge of making a trouble. A big trouble.

That man... that knight...

Friend or foe?

And…

And where the hell was the Nameless One?

Trip's licit, but honestly even a bit forced, sly amusement faded away.

What was going to happen?

What... what was the Princess going to do, in her more than understandable surge of reborn pride?

How...

How would it go to end?

 _ **And where the hell was the Nameless One?!**_

Damn! Whether he was or not what he was, it was still true that he had already saved her once!

Willy-nilly, he was her saviour!

Destined to be such!

 _ **Designed**_ _to be such!_

So?

What was he waiting for?

What was he waiting for to come to save her once again? From... - Trip frowned and sighed uneasy. Yes. He really feared it were just so. - …from herself?

By a hair he didn't say it aloud.

 _Come on, damn wretch! Come outside! Stop her before she gets herself into a mess even bigger and worse than the one she had ended up wedging herself into!_

By a hair the words that crowded to come out, free and strong, from his throat, did not really burst off.

 _Remember that if you do not save her, no one will ever be able to give you a soul again! Only her love can do it!_

By a hair his angry and worried words did not slip out of his mouth

 _Remember what she gave you! Remember she gave you all herself!_

And, in the end, it became no longer possible. The words didn't have it made anymore. Loud and irate, they erupted out from him.

"Show yourself, damn bastard blowhard!"

T'Pol did not even dream to raise her eyebrow as Trip gave free vent to the words - to the thoughts - that had won their battle.

" **Jump out, stupid reluctant saviour of a Nameless One!** "

* * *

 ** _End of Chapter forty_**

 ** _TBC_**

 **oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo**

 **oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo**

 ** _Cursed saviours!_**

 ** _How much they make themselves being wished!_**


	41. The Ears of the Elves - Chapter 41

**The Ears of the Elves**

 **By Asso**

 **Chapter forty-one**

* * *

 _Love is a mess._

* * *

 **The Ears of the Elves**

 **Chapter forty-one**

 **oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo**

 **oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo**

* * *

"Who are you?"

Anxiety, fear, frustration, uncertainty.

And confusion.

A huge confusion.

Which was buzzing in her head and deep inside her heart.

She had sold her soul to the devil. _Had leaved her heart to him._

And she knew it.

 **She knew it!**

For him she had debased herself to show herself as a lewd whore to that... to that mob of barbarian assassins! Of savage marauders and without God!

 **For him!**

And now he was not there!

 **He was not there!**

And there was instead that man!

That knight!

Master of Atana!

Of Atana! Her beloved damsel!

That man!

Who dared... who dared ... who dared to remember her what she knew!

And did not want to know!

But that she knew!

 **And did want to know!**

 **AND WAS GLAD TO KNOW!**

* * *

"Oh yeah. Love can really be a big mess, my dear Princess."

T'Pol did not say anything. She simply shrugged in Trip's arms.

How much right was her Adun!

* * *

 **"Who are you?"**

She had to take again her own destiny in her own hands!

She had to do it!

Whatever the cost was!

Her head rose up proud. Her naked, smooth shoulders straightened. Her emerald eyes glittered. Her finger pointed with no fear or hesitation at the tall Human.

 **"Who are you, I asked?"**

Atana's tremulous voice - "Princess ..." - was nothing to her. Neither the frightened whispers of apprehension of her new handmaids and friends, a few steps behind her.

"Who are you, who allow yourself to tell me that I have a master, that someone can govern my destiny?"

"Princess!" The trembling and pleading voice of Atana again. Again ignored. Just like the muffled murmurs of the other two maidens.

In the bated silence of the crowd. In front of everyone's attentive eyes, of everyone's pricked ears.

"I am Princess Alel, and I have no Masters or Lords. I am the only mistress and lady of myself, and of me, and of my body, I - and I alone - am the Mistress and Lady!

" _Princess!_ " It was a choked cry, that of Atana.

"And of it, I can do what I want!"

"Princess, please listen to me!" But it was words thrown in the wind, those of Atana.

"I can display it, I can exhibit it, I can give it to whom I want! My body, like my…" The Princess wasn't able to prevent herself from saying that word. "… my heart, has no masters!"

Atana did not even dare to breathe anymore, while her Princess elevated more and more up the tone of her voice and advanced a step towards the Human, motionless - frowning and silent - in front of her.

"And, whoever you are, nothing you can do to change things. I was captured. All right, it is. I was chained. All right, it is. And..." - For a moment the Princess' voice faltered - "...and... and... and even… even taken by your brutal Lord. But…" _She was crazy! Yes! She had gone mad! And madness does not know itself._ "…but I'm still the Princess Alel, and no one can claim ownership rights over me! Nobody! Not even your wild and beastly boss! Remember! Remember it well! Whoever you are! "

" **He is the commander in chief of the warriors of our Lord! Above him there is only the Nameless One!** "

Finally, Atana's voice burst forth mighty.

Then it lowered. It softened.

"Princess... "Atana gently took the hands of her Princess." ...Princess... that's my Master. And for that reason he's delegated to have command in the absence of our Lord."

At last the Princess was able to get out of the compulsive loop of her thoughts. Her eyes, confused, turned to Atana.

What was that strange tone from her?

Her master? Sure. It had been clear from the very first moment. That one was her master.

But ... but ... – The Princess had had this feeling before already - wasn't it ... wasn't it pride what shone in Atana's voice?

Pride?... **PRIDE!?**

But a woman can feel pride to belong to a man, whatever the meaning, metaphorical or real, of that word – _'belong'_ \- only if... only if for him, for that man, the woman feels...

Atana... could perhaps Atana feel for her master what ... _Oh Gods of the Elves! It was no longer possible for the Princess to deny it to herself!_... what she felt for her... for her... for her own master? For... for the human being in the form of a beast who had captured her and... and had taken her? For the... for the… _for the cruelly wounded beast to whom she had given herself?_

The Princess's voice was a tenuous, disoriented sigh. "You... you seem proud to belong to your master."

Atana's eyes lowered shamefully. Her voice was a low murmuring. "He is... he's kind. He's sweet with me, my Lady."

The Princess burst forth, almost furious. What was happening? What happened to Atana? _And to her?_

"Kind? Sweet? Atana! Atana, my maid! My friend! He is your master! YOUR MASTER! You've been given to him by... by the beast who... who..."

The Princess could not finish. What was she to say? _By the beast who had taken her?_ _Or..._ _or by the beast to whom she had passionately made gift of herself?_

Atana's eyes lifted suddenly. They shone. Intensely.

They sprang up with unmistakable pride.

And proud sounded her voice. "The Lord of these warriors stated his valiant second in command could not have better prize for his valour than me."

The Princess's eyes widened in wonder. "What? And... and does that please you? Atana! I saw you! You were chained to his saddle! You..."

"Here, where we are, among these warriors, constantly in precarious balance between life and death, that's the custom, my Princess. There are no free women here. There are only slave girls. This is the rule. This is the law. But... but we're not treated badly, we slave-girls. It is true, our will must be the will of our masters, but wherever you look, is there by chance for women, except for those of high rank, like you're, my Lady, a destiny other than that of obeying? And… and then…" And again Atana's eyes gleamed, inside them a strange mixture of embarrassed and contentment. "… some of us... _many_ of us ... are… are… "

The mind of the Princess returned abruptly to the show that had presented itself to her eyes when she had left the tent. To those girls, all with their slavery collar. To their gestures. Their... _affectionate_... gestures towards their masters.

"What, Atana?" And her voice was a faint whisper.

Atana squeezed her Princess's hands.

"Oh my Princess." She tightened them with force. "I know! I know well that this may sound strange to your ears, unbelievable, even! But what, being and… and also appearing and showing off… as a slave-girl can ever be, if the reward is...? "

"Is what, Atana?"

"Protection, my Lady, safety, and also... above all..."

"What, Atana? Tell me! What?"

Atana's eyes lowered again. And again, her voice was a soft sigh. A _dreamy_ sigh. "He, my master, says that he could no longer think his life could be without me."

The Princess's eyes ran, wide open and amazed, at the face of the Human.

Not a muscle moved on that handsome face, which seemed cut in the stone.

But those gray eyes seemed to smile. And to assert that it was so. As Atana said.

"My Princess..." Atana's voice made turn the Princess' gaze back to her. Her eyes were again raised to look at her. They were brilliant and stared at her intently. "Being chained to his saddle is a very tiny price for such a thing."

The Princess's lips moved as if to speak, but no sound came out of her mouth.

"It is only the tangible and manifest display, compliant with the rules that apply here, of what - truly - enchains me to him."

For a not brief time the Princess was literally unable to speak.

Then, slowly, she regained the use of the word.

And her words were angry.

"All right, agree, be it so! But he - your master - is here! To... to protect you! As you say he does! But _he_!" The voice of the Princess was a wounded cry. " **He!** The one that your master states that is _**my**_ master... _**he**_... where is he?"

"Princess..."

It was the grave voice of the Human. But it fell into the void.

"Really a nice master! Apparently, he does not care at all to safeguard what… what… what belongs to him!" The Princess's voice was now a shrill scream. " _ **Me!**_ "

* * *

"She said it!"

"Yes, she did, my Adun."

"And he, that damned, is not there! He couldn't hear her say it!"

"No, T'hai'la, he is not there, but he will come."

"But what does he expect? What the hell..."

"Why do not we find out it together, Adun? You, for the first time, and, wanting to see well, I also, because I wasn't capable of really understanding without you."

Trip's head nodded from above that of T'Pol.

"Yes, sure, let's find out it together, sweetheart, but woe betide him if he..."

"Go ahead, Adun."

"Mh. Okay, okay."

* * *

The Human's voice rose again and, this time, the Princess's ears did not be - _could not be_ \- deaf.

"He's busy doing something that only he can do, my Lady. Something really important. For this, he's absent."

"More important than safeguarding the woman of whom he is the master and lord?"

The truth.

The truth could no longer be unrecognized nor, even less, unstated.

Did the Princess realize what she was saying? Was it irritation and disappointment, what could be felt in the angry and bitter tone of her words? Irritation and disappointment for something she would have wanted and hadn't had? And for whose obtainment she had done what she had done? Without thinking - without really pondering - about the unknowns that this carried with it? About the risks that this entailed in itself?

But it was... it was so beautiful, so... so wonderful, so... _ravishing_... the why of what she had done!

 _Make him go back. Make him tread backwards the steps she had pushed him to do._

 _Let him... let him know that ... that it was not for her, after all, such an insane idea that of having a Lord and Master, if this Lord and Master... was him!_

 _Surrender to him! Abandon finally herself in the protection of someone who cared for her!_

 _As... as it was for Atana with her own Master._

 _Was it after all so bad, so crazy, so absurd, such an idea?_ _Such a desire?_

 _Oh yes! He was wicked! He was ... he was a beast, in the soul and in the appearance!_

 _But who had reduced him so? The world; the nature, evil and ungenerous; the Humans;_ _ **the Elves!**_ _So then... couldn't it be ... couldn't it be that, for her... for her, who of all the Elves was the true Princess; who inside her, inevitably, because of her high lineage, carried all the glory and all the sordidness of the elven people… couldn't it be that it were really a small price to pay that of accepting the idea -_ _ **the fact!**_ _\- that he was her Lord and Master, if in return she had had his protection and... and especially his... his love?_

 _Even if his would be a tremendous love, a love bringing pain!_

 _But... then... slowly... over time, she would have changed him. Yes! He ... he could go back to having a soul! She was certain! Because that soul was not lost! She had perceived it! She had felt it! In his caresses! In his kisses! In his passion! And she! She! She could make so that that soul could relive! She could,_ _ **was able**_ _to give him a soul again!_

 _She would have done it with her love for him!_

 _Love? LOVE?_

 _ **Her... her love for him?**_

 _Loving a beast? A... a satanic beast? A being with the appearance and the soul of a beast?_

 _How... how was this possible? Yet... and yet... she..._

 _She... she loved him!_

 _ **Yes! She loved him!**_

 _ **And her love for him would perform the miracle!**_

"Oh oh, my Lady! Far be it from me to try to interpret how our supreme leader intends to behave with you, but surely having to protect you from yourself wasn't something he could think it were to be included in the range of his possible attitudes toward you."

The brutal real world regained its spot in the Princess' mind again, forcibly brought to show itself again because of those words.

The Human. Him again.

But it was not pleasant words.

Derisive, expressly thought and said on the purpose to throw in the Princess' face all the dangerous foolishness of what she had done. Irony and sarcasm yet. As if those of her... of her Master hadn't have been enough already! And what was worse it was that that irony and that sarcasm brought violently out in the open everything the Princess had just come to admit - forcedly, with painful taking of consciousness - to herself.

It was too much. Maybe in other moments she would have been able to control herself. But now... in that situation... in that predicament... by her herself provoked...

You can't taunt this way a Princess!

 _Not even... not even the Lord and Master of that Princess can do it!_

Her wrath might really explode, more violent than ever.

As it happened to Princess Alel.

The arm raised to indicate angrily the Human, the eyes blazing with anger, her choked voice hissed through the air…. "You have to take care of what belongs to you! What importance can it ever have if the danger for it comes from it itself?"

The arm came down. The anger disappeared. Sorrowful bitterness took its place.

"But my Lord and Master is only this. My Lord and Master. And I am nothing to him. A thing. Flesh to possess."

The marvellous green eyes lowered. The voice was a painful sigh.

"My handmaid and friend says you're kind with her. That you care for her. That in you she has found safety and protection. And… and even something more."

The Princess's voice became so low that it was almost impossible to hear it.

"But I... I... her Princess ... the Princess Alel... I... what ... what...?"

And the Princess's voice stopped. And fortunately, the sob which concluded her speaking was so tenuous that it could not be heard except by Atana, by her master - that knight - and by the other two maids.

 _Being... being protected, cared for, safeguarded._

 _By... by him._

 _Him._

 _The beast –_ _ **THE HUMAN!**_ _\- who... who had taken possession of her. Who REALLY had taken possession of her!_

 _Was it really so absurd? So impossible?_

 _That cloak ... that cloak with which she had been told that he had wrapped her to... to protect her... that mantle... did it mean nothing?_

 _Nothing!_

That word gained strength in the mind and soul of the Princess.

It grew up.

It got bigger.

 _ **Nothing!**_

She exploded out of her lips.

" **NOTHING!** "

Her eyes burned with fury.

" **Nothing! I'm nothing for him!** "

Her hands left those of Atana. They clenched convulsively themselves in two livid fists.

"So then... so then... what can it ever matter to him that I expose my naked body to his warriors? In any case... in any case it is his flesh! Soft flesh to nourish his desires! And nothing else! Nothing more than this!"

The Princess's eyes shone.

They shone with tears.

"It is flesh of him! As much as exhibited it may be, it is still flesh of him!"

And, suddenly, the short skirt was torn off away.

And the Princess lifted her arms above her head.

And she turned.

And - her eyes, made of the gleam green sheen of the most precious emerald and glistening with pearls of tears, fixed with desperate pride on the mob in front of her - she offered herself completely naked and wonderful far beyond what words can say, a vision of otherworldly beauty, to everyone's sight.

* * *

"Oh my!"

"Trip! Adun!" T'Pol's head rose suddenly. "Be calm!"

"Calm? But ... but the Princess has gone mad! She... she..."

T'Pol's hand rose to caress Trip's face.

"No. She's not crazy, my K'diwa, she's just struggling within in the most total uncertainty, inside something she absolutely does not know how to handle. And that's why... that's why she does things she never would have dreamed to do. "

T'Pol's eyes lowered, full of shame.

"As... as I did, my Adun."

Trip remained speechless.

Then, as his hand gently took that of T'Pol... "But you have been able to rectify your mistakes, my love."

T'Pol's hand tightened that of Trip.

"Yes. I did. Thank to you, my Ashayam."

Trip swallowed. He cleared his throat. "And the Princess ..."

T'Pol lowered back her head on Trip's chest. "Also for her there will be somebody able to understand and remedy her mistakes."

"The Nameless One? Can it ever be? That soulless beast?"

"Remember, my Adun, that, in the end, as you understood and made me understand, just as I'm the Princess - and... and I would say that her senseless and seesawing behaviour lets it be seen very well! - he is you. Concealed inside the sullen gloom of his heart, there is the gleaming glow of yours."

Trip blushed violently. It did not happen to him often; indeed, it didn't happen to him practically ever.

But... at that moment...

Gods of heaven and hell demons! It was T'Pol! It was from her that came to him that inestimable compliment!

From his adored T'Pol.

And she had certainly not formulated it in the usual, stern and rather irritating laconicism of Vulcans' way of speaking!

He swallowed again and again cleared his throat, trying not to let be seen too much his intense satisfaction and pride. "You… ahem… you mean...?"

"Read, Adun. Keep reading."

"All... all right, sweetheart."

* * *

 _ **End of Chapter forty-one**_

 _ **TBC**_

 **oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo**

 **oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo**

 _Yes. Really a mess._


	42. The Ears of the Elves - Chapter 42

**The Ears of the Elves**

 **By Asso**

 **Chapter forty-two**

* * *

 _Up there..._

 _Above the tops of the trees ..._

* * *

 **The Ears of the Elves**

 **Chapter forty-two**

 **oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo**

 **oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo**

* * *

"What a pity."

The air filled with that mighty voice. With its abrasive, sardonic timbre.

"Such a precious and unique buckle. It would have been better to merely unhook it to get rid of the skirt."

It seemed that the crowd remained frozen, that everyone's breathing ceased.

The Princess stood motionless, as if paralyzed. Her eyes wide open. The breath frozen in her throat.

Slowly, she turned around, her arms still raised above her head, as if impossible for her to lower them.

 _He was there._

A little far away.

On a hump, before the trees, at the edge of the clearing where they were.

Unmoving.

An enormous dark shadow, looming up against the vivid sunlight. Riding a steed. So great to lead to think it had born specifically for him. As black as night. A huge, powerful horse that looked like the steed of the Lord of the Underworld.

He wore his black cloak, which hung down over and covered his dark steed.

His face was hidden by the wide brim of his black hat and by the high collar of his cloak, just like the first time she had seen him and, exactly like then, only his single eye – _his beautiful blue eye_ \- could be seen in his black figure.

Coldly blue. Icily brilliant. Like a gelid, azurine diamond.

The black steed straightened its proud head. It whinnied. The scary and chilling neighing of an infernal destrier.

Slowly, guided by the firm and sure hand of its master, it began to move, pawing fiercely the ground.

It reached the Princess. It stopped right in front of her.

The arms of the Princess fell down inert.

Her ashen visage was turned to that eye, sparkling in the hidden face of the black form, who was now bent on his horse. All toward her.

The world around seemed to have ceased to exist.

The frosty eye peered at the Princess. Scrutinized everything of her. Every corner of her naked body. From head to toe. And then from the feet to the head, stopping finally on the piece of cut chain dangling from the collar that clenched her neck.

For long instants, the figure remained silent. Only the eye seemed to speak a threatening language, as it continued to stare at the chain. Then, eventually, without it getting detached from the chain, the voice, eerie like the figure, rose again. A hiss, low and deep, but which resounded loud in the silence.

"But this chain, Princess, can not be broken easily, like the buckle of your skirt." The feral eye twinkled. As blazing coal. "You have to have the key to open it and you have to know how to use the key."

And, abruptly, the figure straightened on his destrier.

He pulled its reins. Shook them.

The black steed, snorting, turned and, in a few steps, it was before the two handmaids, the two new friends of the Princess.

Their faces got frozen in terror.

Suddenly, the horse rose uplifting itself on the hind legs, towering over the two terrified girls, who fell on their knees, clinging to one another, in front of that huge steed that seemed to be about to throw itself on them, to martyrize them with its deadly hooves.

And, at that moment, the Princess shook herself.

In a leap, faster than lightning, she was in front of the steed, between it and the two maidens, right under its lifted fore-hooves.

* * *

"Oh my God! Princess!"

"Keep calm, Adun, keep calm!"

"Calm? But..."

T'Pol's head lifted again.

"Keep calm, I tell you. It's important to see what's going to happen right now."

Trip stayed for a long moment staring at T'Pol, whose beautiful eyes were gently looking at him.

Then, finally, he nodded.

"O... okay, honey. Okay."

And, a little uncertain, his voice resumed reading, while T'Pol retook her pleasant position.

* * *

Suddenly the horse shied, brusquely pulled by the hands that held its reins. It rotated on its back paws, then, abruptly, it fell down violently forwards, violently beating the ground with its front paws.

Then it began to jerk and jump, spinning on itself, unable to obey the hand of its knight, who was vehemently attempting to control it and make it stop.

And finally it stopped. It calmed down, obedient to the will of its master, at last.

It stood still, panting and puffing. Snorting softly.

And then, slowly, it turned around.

Its fierce muzzle addressed the Princess, together with the ferine face of the knight who rode it.

The panting mouth of the dark knight opened, as if to speak, but it could not.

The Princess didn't allow it.

She raised her bare arms as if they were a barrier. Her eyes darted fiercely at the black figure.

Her voice resounded loud and sure.

Commanding.

" **Do not dare!"**

The voice grew stronger. The bewitchingly feminine yet mighty voice of a fierce warlady.

Of the Princess of all Princesses.

"They are under my protection!"

It was as if the figure on the great horse became of stone, in one with his mount.

Just as the world all around.

And of stone it seemed the voice of the Princess.

"They have followed my will. My chain was cut by my will."

The voice became disdainful.

"No one can command or chain me. One thing is to chain a body, another thing is to chain a soul."

The arms lowered down. The voice became a strange, sweet, sore murmur.

"And it is not enough to take possession of a body to become the master of the heart that makes that body live."

The voice dropped to a whisper barely audible. Perhaps only the black figure on the black steed was able to hear it.

"As much as that body may have been desirous to be possessed."

The world was unmoving.

Not a fly could be heard fly.

Then, slowly, the black figure straightened on the dark steed, and, slowly, the horse moved backwards.

The blue eye of ice stared again for a brief moment at the two girls, clinging to each other in the most dreadful terror.

And finally, the dark form retreated.

The steed turned.

Stopped a few steps back.

It rotated again its noble and powerful snout, towards the two maidens, under the guide of its master

A strange glow appeared on the face of the black shape who mounted it. And whose single eye, now, was staring at the two slave girls.

A glint. Of ferine teeth.

A leonine smile.

"All right, slaves. The day will not be a bad day for you two, in the end."

It was true! It was his voice - the voice of the Nameless One - the one that was heard. Caustic. Acrid. Yet, unequivocally, in some indefinable and unfathomable way, also jocular.

"Apparently, you two enjoy an efficacious protection."

A laugh. Yes. A real laugh. Sardonic. But definitely a laugh. A cheerful laugh!

"See not to think, the two of you, that you can always take advantage of that."

Then the voice exploded.

"Go away! Get out of here! **Out of my sight**!"

Trembling, panting, in a flash the two girls picked themselves up.

They rose furiously and furiously ran away.

To hide themselves.

To seek the protective arms of those who…

 _Their masters! Where were their masters?_

But, even in their terror, they knew it. They had seen it.

Like Atana.

Like her master.

Like everyone else.

Their Lord, the Nameless One - the ruthless, cruel, fierce, brutal, beastly Nameless One - had surrendered.

He had ceded.

He had risked being unhorsed from his steed to avoid injuring the Princess.

And he had bent to her will.

 _What was happening?_

 _And what could have happened now?_

* * *

"I repeat. My God!"

"Not bad, the Princess, eh, Adun?"

"Definitely like it's you, babe. As for being commanding, you and the Princess are really two sides of the same coin."

"Uh?"

"With regard to assert your will, you have nothing to learn, babe."

"Oh, do you think this of me, T'hai'la?"

"Let's say I have some experience on the matter."

Trip couldn't see it, but T'Pol was sure he could imagine the impish snicker that bloomed on her lips.

Serious, more serious than ever, her voice rose slight.

"Do I have to feel guilt to want to impose my will, my Lord, if I ask you to see together with me what is going to happen, as suggested by the narration?"

"Certainly not, my for nothing assertive vulcan doll. In fact, that's _my_ will."

"Ah."

Trip plunged headlong into reading again, ignoring purposely that _'ah'._

* * *

The sun, high and shining of the full morning, lighted everything.

The crowd, in silent and bated waiting.

The grim, dark knight, erect and motionless and silent on his silent steed.

The body - bare, beautiful and quivering - of the Princess. Her splendid face. Even more beautiful in her fervour, with that proud and resolute expression shining on it.

Perhaps only the mild tremor dancing in her green eyes was hard to see.

Perhaps only the single blue eye of the black figure on the horse, as immovable as its knight, could grasp that inner trembling.

And understand the reasons. The _real_ reasons.

For a long time, nothing happened.

Everything and everyone were mute and unmoving.

The Princess - standing, firm and erect, planted on her naked tapered legs - to look silently at the Nameless One.

The Nameless One - huge, black, wrapped in his cloak, straight on his steed - to look silently at the Princess.

All the others, all those around them, petrified to look, with their eyes and mouths wide open, at the Princess and the Nameless One, facing each other.

He, covered by his dark mantle and his black hat.

She, wrapped only of her resplendent beauty.

Then, finally, something moved.

 _Someone._

The Nameless One.

Slowly, almost ostentatiously, he dismounted from horse.

He stood for a few seconds, with his hands resting on the flank of the horse and his back turned to the Princess.

All around, the silent crowd.

Then, slowly, he turned.

He stared at the Princess.

He stared at her for a while. His eye, cold. Gelid. Inscrutable.

And the Princess felt trembling inside.

But she did not move back.

Not of one only step she did move.

Proud and unblinking in her gorgeous nudity, without her expression changing minimally, she remained still. Waiting for the moves of her… master.

All around, the crowd in wait together with her.

Finally he moved. He advanced. He reached the Princess. He stopped in front of her.

A human mountain towering over her.

"Evidently I was not mistaken, my beautiful Princess."

His voice! _**That**_ voice! A voice that had the same tone it had had before... in the tent... before... before they...

The tone it had had when he had told her...

"Apparently, it has become a habit. Whether it's my cloak or your blanket, I continue to find myself in the condition to have to cover your slightly too much exposed secret beauty, my absent-minded Princess, who pay so little attention in avoiding to put on display what normally should not be exhibited."

The Princess gasped. _The same words he had told her in the tent!_

The crowd gasped. _Those words! Those words from their leader!_

What did those words want to mean?

Did they want to mean, for the Princess - who recognized perfectly them, as well as their softly joking tone - what she thought that they wanted to mean?

Did they want to mean, for all the others – who heard them for the first time - what all of them sensed with bewilderment that they wanted to mean?

 _He... would he cover her again? With his cloak? Would... would protect her? She... hadn't she hoped in vain?_

So, this way, the Princess' mind. Abruptly and suddenly hopeful. And timorous of daring to hope.

And...

 _Wouldn't their Lord punish the Princess? Just as he had astoundingly done with the two slave-girls? Abiding by her will? Would he, instead… would he instead cover her with his cloak? Just as he had already done? To... to protect her? Had therefore their Lord found someone… a woman… capable of opposing him... scot-free? What had happened, that night, in his tent, between him and the Princess, different from and more than what everyone thought it had happened? That it_ _ **should**_ _have happened? Had, by chance, their lord found his... his lady? Their master... his mistress?_

So, this way, the baffled minds of the onlookers. And, yet... _And could it be him? Could it be his, that voice? That voice that spoke so... so sweetly? So... kindly?_

"I hope this is the last time. As I said already, I'm a little tired of having to continue to cover you, Princess."

And it happened.

What the Princess hoped and wanted. With all the meaning it carried with it.

What everyone had understood that would have happened

It happened.

The mantle, the black mantle, fluttered.

It flew off away from the shoulders of the Nameless One.

And, limply, softly, guided by the mighty hands, yet so manifestly kind, of the Black Lord, it lay down on the bare shoulders of the Princess; slipped down, along and around her; wrapped itself, warm and protective, around her, around her naked body.

Covered her.

Entirely. Up to the feet and beyond, given its huge greatness compared to her.

 _Entirely._

Except for her head, which stuck out, enwrapped in the blonde bulk of her sunny hair.

Except for her face, that, amazed and radiant, was fixed on the face, the monstrous and… and oddly sweet face, now visible, of the Nameless One.

Her green eyes, glowing with an astonished mute smile, lost in his blue... _grinning_... eye.

He, standing, huge in front of her, made a quick gesture and, with two fingers of his hand, the one right, the one of flesh and blood, pushed up, at the front, the brim of his big hat.

His face, so, was completely uncovered and everyone who was close enough saw the strange, unheard-of sweetness that shone on that beast-like face.

Everyone who had the luck to be sufficiently close saw the way in which that blue eye was contemplating - enraptured - the Princess, her wondrous visage, which, dreamy, was turned upward, to look at his.

And everyone who had the good fortune to be adequately close was able to hear the softness of his voice as he spoke.

"Better so, is not it, Princess? The sun is high and maybe its heat could hurt your silk skin. Or, maybe, despite its heat, you might feel cold. You're so sensitive and delicate."

Not at all - _for nothing at all!_ \- the rough, scratchy harshness, the sarcastic, dangerous kindness of his voice of ever.

Yet it was his voice. It was the voice of their boss and lord.

His was the voice that was saying, still with that soft and sweetly joking tone ... "I know. I know well how sensitive and delicate you're, Princess."

Just as his was the laughing twinkle that enlightened his eye, as he looked at and revelled patently in the sudden blush that in a jiffy coloured the Princess' face at his words.

And that blush - that _innocent_ blush - dispersed in everyone every possible doubt.

In that tent, that night, something great had happened.

Something enormously great!

Otherwise, how could one explain the laughter that resounded mild - sweet, soft, quiet - in the air? _**His**_ laughter? A laughter far different from the rare, mocking, frightening laughters of their Lord?

Of their Lord without heart.

Or, maybe, now, not anymore.

* * *

"Oh, finally, finally, finally, finally! It was time! And now, no more obstacle! Eh no! Enough! The road is open! Now... Hon?"

Trip looked down at T'Pol.

There was no sign, from her, that mirrored at least a little his enthusiasm.

Indeed, she seemed a little uneasy.

"Hon?"

Nothing. Only a low sigh.

Trip raised his head.

Rather uncomfortable in his turn, she started reading again.

* * *

Suddenly a gloom shadow darkened the face of the Nameless One.

The blush disappeared from the Princess's cheeks. It was replaced by pallor.

"Yeah. Sure. I know very well how sensitive and delicate you're, my sweet Princess."

The blue eye clouded over. It seemed to stare at something, something that only it could see. It was as if… as if a thought - a _bad_ thought; a… a remembrance; yes, a remembrance, for a moment forgotten - suddenly had come to obscure everything; to dim, to erase the glee of that moment.

And so it was. The Princess understood it, she understood it perfectly. It was exactly a remembrance. And she knew well what the remembrance was.

"What a pity that you refused to let me taste yet your unique, exquisite fragrance, after you have willingly and voluntarily brought me to get lost in it."

Could the others hear what the Nameless One was saying? His voice was so low! And, after all, in effect to her and only to her, to the Princess, his words were intended.

But there were two people close to the Nameless One and the Princess, so close that they could hear.

Atana and her master.

Whose ears were listening with keen attention to every single word of the Nameless One, as well as their eyes were watching attentively and intensely every single expression going across the Princess' visage as she heard the things he was telling her. And it almost seemed to them that they could grasp the mute words shaking in the mind of the Princess at every sentence the Nameless One pronounced.

 _[Oh no! NO! Please no!_ _Do not talk like that!]_

Words clear, finally. Precise. Sincere. But that she did not have the courage to say.

 _[My master!]_

Because he wouldn't even have been listening.

 _[My Lord!]_

So enraged as he was.

 _[My…]_

Fixed on that aching memory, on that vision of her chasing him away from her after giving him herself.

 _[_ _ **MY**_ _…]_

But that she would have wanted to say so much to him. If only he had wanted to listen to them.

 _[…_ _ **MY LOVE!**_ _]_

Gloomy and dreary, the blue eye looked down, staring at the agitated beautiful green eyes of the Princess.

"But I can understand you, my sweet Princess. It is possible to get lost in desire and desire is blind. But not blind enough. In the end even the blindest of desires can have eyes to see ..." The eye blinked. The ferine teeth let themselves be shown, in a harsh half-smile. "... my face. My face of beast."

 _[NO! No no and no! You're not a beast! You're a man! You're_ _ **my**_ _man! YOU'RE MY LOVE!]_

"What a pity that I have this face, isn't it, my lovely Princess? A nightmare of face, I would say."

 _[A nightmare? A NIGHTMARE? YES! You're the nightmare that infested my dreams when I was a child. You're the incubus that made me tremble when I was awake. You were my terror! And the only thing that could calm me was that truly you were nothing but a nightmare! Only a terrifying incubus born from night! And instead you exist. YOU EXIST! And you are my love!_ _ **NOW YOU'RE MY LOVE!]**_

"Who knows, maybe without such a face it would have been possible for things to go differently, between us. Well, of course we can not forget what I am, however."

 _[And things can still go differently! Your face... what does it matter? And what counts what you are? I do not know, I do not understand! I only know that I love you!]_

"It's a shame, really a shame, my charming Princess. We'd have been fine together, I'm sure, and maybe your ardent sweetness, along with your stubborn bravery, could have given back me some scraps of soul. Maybe you could have been capable of making me less bestial, at least inside."

 _[Yes! It's so! I could have done it! And…_ _ **and I can still do it!**_ _With my love for you! Let me do it, my Lord, my Master, my love! Give me this chance! Do not go back! Do not make my same mistake! I... love you!]_

"Instead you have chased me away. After all that there had been between us, you have disowned everything and have chased me away. And cruelly. And so I..."

The voice fell silent. A tense pause; charged. While a strange expression, something mixed between amazement and sadness, widened over the face of the Nameless One. And the same mixture of feelings seemed to shine through in his voice when it continued.

"I could have taken you. At my total leisure. I could have made you pay in a thousand and a thousand ways your refusal. But… I did not."

The voice changed. Now it sounded angry.

" **I could not do it!** Because..." And, in saying this, the voice changed again. It became a whisper. "...because I..."

And almost the Princess was finally about to talk. To shout, even. To shout out at the top of her lungs the stupendous words that had flourished, lush and powerful, in her heart.

 _[Because you love me! Yes, you love me just as I love you! I feel it!_ _ **I know it!**_ _]_

But she could not. She could not yell that; she could not cry aloud… _You love me, you love me, you love me! I do not know why, I do not know how can be possible that such a thing has happened between us two, but it is so. It happened. I love you and you love me. And I don't care anything about the why, about who you are. The only thing that matters to me is that I love you and you love me. And I want be loved by you! I want it! So stop thinking of my refusal! Think of me, instead. Of me as I am now. Wrapped naked in your cloak!_

The Nameless One's voice prevented her from doing it. And once again anger vibrated in that voice.

"But something... I had to do! **I had to do**! You couldn't get away with it, Princess! And... and it could not, it did not have to end like this! So, I…"

Something, a veil, appeared on the monstrous face. A veil of...

"I…"

It seemed... it looked… _regret!_

"…I decided to humiliate you, Princess. I decided to take revenge on your refusal by means…"

It _**was**_ regret! The Princess knew she wasn't deceiving herself!

"… by means of that skirt."

 **REGRET!**

"That skirt… that precious skirt made of nothing..."

And regret rang in his voice!

"It was my way of telling you, Princess, that you, in any case, were mine. That nothing your rejection was worth, that nothing it counted."

The Princess held her breath. She felt that further – _significant_ – words from her Master were going to be said. And that not the tiniest fraction of those words, not an inflection, she should have had to miss, as well as anything could have transpired on his face. In his eye.

"Petty? Bad? Evil? Oh yes, it is. But ..." And the regret, so clear in the face and voice, became obvious sadness. "... But I _**am**_ petty, Princess. And bad. And evil. I…"

And, suddenly, something shone in the blue eye.

Something...

The Princess winced.

 _Was it maybe ... was it perhaps ... oh gods! But that was impossible!_

And the bestial face lifted abruptly, as if to prevent the Princess from seeing that indiscreet drop, that diaphanous pearl, astonishingly sprung off where it could not be.

And low, strained, forced, the voice of the Nameless One was heard again.

"I am what I am, my Lady. I'm not just a monster outside. I'm a monster inside."

 _[No! NO!_ _ **And NO!**_ _It's not true!_ _ **It's not true!**_ _ **Cruel fate made you so, but you are not like that!**_ _I've seen how you're inside! I_ _ **have felt**_ _how you're inside! And you're not without hope! You can change! You can change!_ _ **I**_ _–_ _ **I I I!**_ _\- can make you change!]_

"And the monster that I am, Princess, could only act so. Sordidly. Wickedly. To take revenge on you. And... to have you again. To possess you again. But… but without violence. Because it had been so beautiful what you had given me without being forced to do so. And I wanted you to do it again… by your own will. In… in some way. By merely showing to you that you had no other choice. and - why not? - by reminding you once again, if necessary, that your handmaid's life depended on you, saying to myself with contemptuous confidence that, once you'd succumbed to my blackmail one more time, the... the magic would happen again. This I have planned, this I have concocted. And what other way could ever that monster know? The monster in the shape and in the mind... that it's me?"

The Nameless One's face lowered. There was no longer that liquid gem in the eye, if ever it there had been. But there was something else. There was...

The Princess felt literally tear the heart out of her chest.

Could there be a sadness, a regret, a melancholy, bigger than those she saw in that veiled eye?

But it was not only for the infinite sadness, regret, melancholy well manifest to her eyes and her soul on the ferine face of him that she felt her heart being torn in pieces. It was because she was aware - _as only she could be_ \- of the true reasons for that sadness, that regret, that melancholy. She could because he had been... had been inside her!

 _ **Inside her!**_

In all senses.

Not only with his body.

 _It was the sadness, the regret, the melancholy to be what he was._

 _And he would not have wanted to be._

 _And knew instead he was._

"But I do not know any other way, Princess. Nobody has ever shown me that there might be another way to get something. Only you did it. Only you gave me something without forcing me to coerce you to do so with violence. And, indeed, you gave it to me - and it's so - by your own will. Something… incomparable. You gave me…"

How can one describe what vibrated in Nameless One's voice as he uttered the last word? How can one describe what is simultaneously joy and doleful nostalgia?

"Yourself _._ "

The Princess's heart throbbed too much. Too much! It prevented her from speaking. From saying what was swelling her soul.

 _[And I do want to do it again! I do want to do it again! And again! And again! And again! Until the end of time!]_

"You, Princess, are the only sweet thing I've ever had. The only nice thing."

 _[But I'm here! I am here! Do not you see me? Do not you understand? I'm here, wrapped nude in your cloak! I'm here to give you my… my ardent sweetness again! To make you taste my fragrance again! The sweetness, the fragrance, the ardour, the… the passion that belong to you!]_

"And, to have you again, to have you in the way you gave yourself to me this night, I would have done anything. ANYTHING! Even... even ..."

There! It was happening! What she had felt that was going to happen was happening.

And it was not only her who perceived it.

Atana and her master were listening with bated breath just like she was doing.

"Inside me, Princess, I..." It was a whisper, sad and painful, barely audible. "... I knew that… that when we would have been alone again, I and you, in my tent... I... I would have asked you to make me happy again. I would have asked you for that… on my knees."

The Princess stood breathless.

And breathless stood Atana and her master, whose hand even snapped to clench hers in amazement.

Atana could not believe her ears.

The Lord of Darkness had fallen in love!

 _Her Princess had charmed the Lord of Darkness himself!_

* * *

"Wow! It seems that making fall in love the Lord of Darkness - do we want to say 'the devil'? - is rather common in your bloodline, my girl! Known or unknown that this bloodline can be."

"Husband!"

"Oh... ah... just a joke, my sweet bon-bon! Just a joke! So where we were? Ah yes. Here."

* * *

"Yes, I would have done it, my lady. The Nameless One would have asked you on his knees to pardon him and give him the gift of your sweet ardour again."

The Princess felt something mount inside her that she had never felt before. Something so powerful and heart-rending that prevented her from finally uttering the words that were hammering in her mind.

She failed to give them voice. She was overwhelmed.

They could only explode mighty in her brain and in her heart.

 _[_ _ **And so then take it! Take it, for all gods! It's yours! It's yours! Yours only and only yours!**_ _]_

* * *

"But is the Princess just capable of thinking, for Satan's goatee? Does it take so much for speaking, for telling the Nameless One what's passing through her head?"

"Ashayam, she's me, as you understood and led me to understand, and I too have a clear tendency to rack my brains, as you would say, without expressing what I think. You always reproach me for this. And you always tell me - rightly - that it was and might yet be the cause of many useless sufferings."

"Uh? Yes, but ..."

"And then…" Trip could clearly perceive the rise of T'Pol's eyebrow. "…leaving even aside the sense of overwhelmingness that dominates her at this time, thing I can understand well..."

"What?"

T'Pol swallowed. "Well, you know, the Trellium and... and you too, especially you... there had been moments in my life in which I felt overwhelmed, without succeeding... yes, without being able to think straight."

"Oh, sweetheart!"

"But that's water under the bridge, as you say, Ashayam. You have made so that the flood could no longer sweep me away."

This time it was Trip who had to gulp. "Well..."

"Anyway, if I'm allowed to end up, my Husband and Lord, what I was saying..."

"Huh? But... of course!"

"Very well. So. As I was saying, please do not believe that it is so easy for the Princess to interrupt the flow of the words of the Nameless One. You know, just as I am the Princess, so you are the Nameless One, and if the impetus of his speaking is just one small fraction of yours..."

"Mh. Okay. Better keep reading."

"I would say so, Ashal-veh."

* * *

And the Princess missed the moment. For her it was no longer possible to speak.

The Nameless One's leaden voice blocked her once more.

"There was an image in my mind while I was away. It did not leave me. It dominated my thoughts."

The Princess was trembling. Inside and outside.

And even Atana was trembling.

And perhaps even her tough master was feeling something like that.

"The image of you wearing that skirt."

The Nameless One's voice jammed. It seemed... _possible?_... some sort off a restrained...

No. An illusion. Nothing else. The Nameless One did not know what it was a sob.

And nevertheless…

 _Nevertheless…_

His big hand passed over his face, as if to drive away something... a ghost ... a pain...

An unknown angst.

Then there were his words again.

Low. Soft.

Painful.

While his eye was watching, sad, the Princess.

While the Princess was watching, mute, that eye. Its deep blue.

A well of pain. Of hopeless regret.

Of desperation.

Because it was the eye of the Nameless One.

Condemned to be the Nameless One.

"So, this way, you would have been, when I'd have seen you again. So. For me. And only for me. And, in my mind, I pictured you dancing with that skirt on you for me. And unfastening that skirt for me. And throwing away that skirt for me."

 _[Oh yes! Yes Yes Yes! And thus I'll be for you! I'll dance for you! Wearing that skirt! I'll dance for you voluptuously, seductively, provocatively! And then... then I'll unfasten that skirt! For you! I'll throw it away, far away! For you! And then you... you...]_

"And then I... would have made you mine again."

 _[Oh yes yes yes yes!_ _ **YES!**_ _Yours! YOURS, YOURS, YOURS!_ _ **YOURS!**_ _]_

"I would have made you mine again, my Princess. This, I figured in my mind. And you would have been my Princess. You would have been my…"

The voice faltered. Got broken. Then talked again, and this time the Princess could not even think, because there were no words, either said or thought, that could be even remotely phrased, when she heard the last thing the Nameless One said.

It was spoken in a soft voice. Yet it was heard not only by the Princess. Not just by Atana. Not only by Atana's master.

It thundered in the ears and minds of all.

It was not something that could not be heard.

"… _My Mistress._ "

And the world stopped.

In marvel.

And in waiting.

For what the Nameless One was about to say more.

"But I was a fool, Princess."

And, finally, at that statement, the Princess managed to speak. In a quivering voice.

"A... a fool?"

"Sure. How could I think you would have undergone without reacting - You. The Princess Alel. - my sordid revenge on you?"

"I...?"

"And you've been great, Princess. Nothing to say."

 _[Oh no! Not that sardonic and lashing tone again!]_

"You have overturned things with skill and mastery. Seemingly you humbled yourself, but actually the one humiliated it's me, because you have made it so that the world - that my people - could see that I have no power over you. And, indeed, you have led me to cover you again, with my cloak, without a shot being fired, whereas I should have let you become throbbing flesh for my warriors; and, still without a shot being fired, you have been also capable of inducing me to not punish the two slave-girls. Great, great, nothing to say. But above all you have been great, Princess, in what you have shown very clearly to me."

The sarcasm disappeared, in the voice. Every trace. Bitterness. Oppressive bitterness. This only, there was.

"You have shown to me, Princess, without a shadow of doubt, that, notwithstanding the immense gift that you made to me, I am not and can't be anything for you. I can't be anything but... a beast."

The Princess blanched.

Those words...

Oh those words!

It was as if she were living what her mind had imagined that the Nameless One could tell her after he had gone away, after... after she had rejected him, denying everything that had happened. _Denying herself!_

But this time she was not imagining anything! This time those words were true! Real!

 **It could not - did not have to! - be so!**

And so then, under the powerful thrust of that harrowing memory that was turning into harrowing reality, the Princess finally found her voice.

And it burst forth. And everyone heard.

" **IT IS NOT SO!** "

For some instants, the Nameless One stood silent, in everyone's silence, as a confused expression spread on his face. Then he narrowed his eye and his voice rang out strong.

And puzzled.

And with something... a vein... a trace... a hint...

 _Was it hope?_

"It is not so, what, Princess?"

"You're not a beast for me!"

"I am not a...?

"No! You're not! And I did all I did... for you!"

"What!?"

"I wanted... I wanted..."

The blue eye narrowed even more. The forehead above it frowned.

"What did you want, Princess?" Deep wrinkles dug the brow. "I can understand - _I understand_ \- the severed chain. But, then, why did not you run away? And…"

And the eye opened wide as the Nameless One formulated the last question. It opened wide in the sudden, confused understanding of the why of the Princess's incomprehensible action.

"And why did you offer such a spectacle of yourself?"

The Princess stood petrified, at that direct question.

What… what could she ever say? Could she say that she had wanted... she had wanted...?

And, in effect, what had she really wanted? What of really true was there in her previous motivations? In her previous wearying mental strivings?

What she had wanted was…

What she had _truly_ wanted was…

The true truth was that she had wanted…

 _She had wanted..._

And she said it. Loud and clear. She yelled it.

" **I WANTED YOUR MANTLE AROUND MY BARE BODY!** "

And that cry, that assertion couldn't but be understood in all its significance.

For not a few moments, there was astonishment in the air.

The same that shone through the wide open eye of the Nameless One.

Then that eye narrowed again. It became almost a tight slit.

"And you have it, Princess. But…" A deep sigh shook the Nameless One's powerful chest. "…but very different I painted in my mind the scenario in which this should have had to happen. It should have had to occur when we'd been alone. You and me. In our…"

The Nameless One's voice stopped, as if unable to go further, but it resumed immediately, in a soft and nevertheless well audible sigh.

"In our intimacy. A…"

The voice paused again for a short moment, as if it had to struggle to say what it wanted to say.

"… a love game between us two."

And there was silence once again. But the Nameless One's voice resumed speaking straight away, his brow now smoothed out and his eye normally open, without granting to the Princess the time even of merely thinking to try to reply.

But how strange, bizarre was the tone of that voice. Forced, in a way. As purposely searched.

And how incredible, almost impossible to be believed, it was what resounded on his mouth.

 _The things he said to the Princess. And to himself._

And that everyone heard.

"Princess, I know this may sound unbelievable, but I too can dream. And I had a dream. But I dreamed a dream that can be nothing but a dream. I dreamed... you."

It seemed the air itself was motionless to listen.

"But it was a dream. And a dream it remains. In spite of your own words, the words I would have wanted to hear from you and you in the end said, it can be nothing but that."

A small, short break. A break which made even more bated the wait.

"I am the Nameless One. And you are the Princess Alel. You're light. And I am darkness. I am evil, prevaricator, incapable of not being so. And you're rebellious. _Rightly_ rebellious. _Incoercible_. As the Princess Alel must be. I conceive nothing but my will. And you do not bend to anyone's will. And I...""

If there had been befuddlement in the crowd before, how to define what there was, now, when the Nameless One said what he said?

"I do not want to break you to make you bend to my will."

Was really he? Was really the Nameless the one who talked like that?

"So then..."

The Nameless One's voice rang loud, while the Princess remained firm and immovable to look and hear, no longer knowing what to do or say.

"Taras!""

The one who the Princess had known as Atana's master, the second in command, snapped like a spring, drawn abruptly out from the paralyzing astonishment he had sunk in.

"My Lord?""

"Take the Princess. I entrust her to you. Take with you a handful of valiant men and bring her to that village we have left behind, three march days away from here."

"Village? Would you mean, my Lord, that lousy conglomerate of sordid holes dug in the rock where that scattered group of tattered Humans, intent only to conceal themselves, has found shelter? So well hidden that we too haven't even almost noticed their existence? And that you have not even considered worthy of a paltry glance?"

"Just that, Taras."

"But..."

"The Princess can find a safe haven, there. Nobody knows about the existence of those pseudo-Humans and certainly none of them will ever think of doing something different from hiding. There, in the midst of that sordid handful of Humans who have forgotten to be such, the Princess will live her life. None of them will even dream of hurting her. At most, there will be mistrust, but nothing more. As long as she will not want to reveal who she is, of course. However, I just do not think she will. Our Princess can ... "The Nameless One chuckled. A bitter chuckle. "... do stupid things, but she stupid is not and she will know how to behave." He sternly looked at his second in command." Especially if you will know how to introduce her appropriately into that... thriving community."

Taras swallowed uncomfortably, but he managed to speak firmly. "I will know for sure how to do, my Lord."

"I do not doubt it, especially if you consider the consequences that might fall on you in case of your failure."

The Nameless One paused for a moment, while his eye seemed to contemplate the future. The Princess's Future.

"Of course ..." A smile between bitterness and amusement flourished on the leonine lips. "... not a great life, for our beloved Princess, but she certainly has had worse moments and, in any case, she will be safe." And then ... "The smile became a grin. A bizarre, almost smug grin. "... let's not underestimate the Princess, Taras. We can not rule out that she will capable of revitalising that miserable small bunch of Humans who have forgotten what, in the good or bad, being Humans means. We can not rule out that she may be able to become once again the Wandering Princess, at the perpetual search of a prince willing to be at her side in her unequal struggle."

Can they coexist, anger and sadness? If you listen to how the voice of the Nameless One sounded, you would say _'yes, it is possible._ '

"A Prince who does not exist, but who, perhaps, she could have been capable of making exist. Irrespectively of how dark such a prince could have been."

Taras, as well as Atana, and as well as everyone else, had enormous difficulty in fully internalizing the meaning of the Nameless One's words.

Was the Nameless One, their soulless chief, the one who was raving of a Prince - a dark Prince - who could have been alongside the Princess in her fight? A dark Prince who... who would have been him?

Yet it was him.

And it was him, The Lord of Darkness - the evil itself – who was showing being wanting to avoid doing evil to the Princess. He wanted her not to suffer!

And, to do this, he gave up on her.

Because he knew that he would make her suffer.

But not only that.

He was even taking care she could find a safe place. He was concerned about her safety!

"Did the cat eat your tongue, Taras? Nothing to say about my orders? Nothing to ask?"

Only his long and determined life experience prevented Taras from jumping.

"You command and I obey, my Lord."

"Very well. So, go."

"Yes, my Lord."

And Taras got ready to act.

But his Lord's voice stopped him. "Taras."

Taras halted abruptly in his tracks. "Yes, my Lord?"

"I do not like the idea that the Princess has no one to rely on, in her new... experience."

A murmur ran through people. Wonders continued.

Taras managed to control himself with a not small effort. "I understand, my Lord. So what do you command me to do? Do I have to stay with the Princess for a while or do I have to dispose that someone else has to do so?"

"The second option. You're useful where you're. But you won't leave someone with her for a while, Taras. You'll leave someone with her forever."

Taras tried to understand. "My Lord?"

"Atana, her handmaiden. They have always been together. They will continue to be so. Leave Atana, her maid, along with her."

Taras stood silent. His gray eyes were staring at his chief's monstrous visage, without his tongue being moving.

"Taras?

"My Lord, I…"

"You?"

"I don't want to renounce Atana, my Lord. She's much more for me than the slave-girl you gave me, my Lord. I won't forsake her."

Atana's eyes jumped toward him. Her heart swelled.

And the crowd rumbled.

What was happening? Taras ... Taras was opposing the will of their Lord?

But how could it be?

Taras was Taras, the man who had always been with their Lord, the dark mirror of his dark soul.

And their Lord was their Lord.

It was not even conceivable to think that someone could oppose his will!

Nobody would do such a thing.

Yeah. Nobody.

But the Princess had done it.

And she had won.

Their Lord had bent to her will!

The Princess!

THE PRINCESS!

She!

It was her!

She had shown that it was possible!

And a new, strange, almost unconceivable thought began to flourish in the minds of those warriors who knew nothing but their leaden world, barely brightened by the smile of the slave-girls with whom some of them had had the luck of having been gratified.

They, all of them, had followed their dark chief in everything and for everything.

Glad to do it

Willing to do it.

Satisfied of doing it.

The world, for one reason or another, had excluded and rejected them and they took avenge on the world. The world was a hell devoid of pity and justice. And, therefore, a hell it had to be.

And they had found the Lord of all demons.

And to him they had sold their souls.

But... but could there be something else besides being what they were?

Could there be something different and superior to the blind fury? To the dull vengeance?

Could there be something... something _nobler_ … to fight for? For which being willing to die?

Something that the Princess had in her and that she... she had managed to instill even in the void of the non-existent soul of their Lord?

Could it be… could it be that she was the beginning of a new beginning?

It was all so strange! All so confused!

Yet, in the midst of that confusion of mind and heart, one thought gained increasingly shape and substance - and power - deep down in the souls of those warriors, who, by now, did not know to be anything but death messengers.

 _The Princess... she had not to be abandoned! She could make their black Lord something quite different than he was._

 _She could make all of them something quite different than being the sinister and somber Army of Darkness!_

* * *

"Eh no. Really not at all bad our Princess, my dear vulcan doll. I dare say that almost - _almost_ \- she equals you."

T'Pol said nothing.

She smiled - covertly - as Trip continued to read.

* * *

"What did you say?"

Those words, their tone, the awareness of whom it was the one from whom they came, would have made tremble anyone.

Taras also trembled.

But he didn't allow the trembling to be seen.

He withstood with stubborn fierceness the Nameless One's gaze.

"I said..."

"I got it!"

Again the silence fell, while Atana clung to her master, who continued to stare back at the fire gaze of their Dark Lord, and the Princess kept on being mute and motionless, watching and listening, unable to say or do anything.

And the morning of the wonders was true to itself.

The Nameless One did not raise his murderous and deadly iron arm to break off the life thread of the one who should have been his alter ego and who, on the contrary, dared oppose him. Instead, it was his voice that acted. And until the day before - until the _night_ before - until the Princess had appeared in his life and in the lives of all them, the price Taras, as anyone else, would pay would have been the death.

 _The immediate death._

And instead it was not so.

But that did not mean that that voice - what it said - could be other than the mere prelude to a punishment even worse than death.

The eye of Nameless One was so quiet! So dangerously suave his tone!

"Well, let's see a little, my dear Taras. To put order in things, I seem to understand you do not want to give up on Atana, as well as I do not want her Gracious Highness the Princess Alel to be with me anymore; indeed, to say it all, I do not want the aforementioned Gracious Highness to be among us anymore. But, at the same time, I do want the above-quoted Gracious Highness the Princess Alel to be together with her likewise above-quoted handmaid Atana, the same female you do not want to give up on."

Too suave. Too _much_ suave.

"Oh I can understand you, I can really understand you, my valiant friend. Not at all bad, that girl, does she? No, not at all bad. Not precisely measuring up to the Princess, but all in all..."

 _Too much suave._

"A problem anything but irrelevant, don't you think, my dear, my _loyal_ friend? How could one solve such a brain-teaser? How can we make it so that you continue to keep having what you want - and that I have given you; fair to remember this - making sure that at the same time my will is respected? Because you want this, do not you, my dearest Taras? You don't want to resist my will, are you?"

Taras swallowed visibly. "My Lord, I…"

"But of course, how can one doubt it?" The blue eye turned into being pure ice. Like the voice of the Nameless One. "Not so, my reliable friend?"

Then the voice went up in its tone. It became a hiss. Hard. Harsh. Threatening. The voice of the Lord of Darkness. Of the Nameless One.

" _It is not so_?

Cold beads of sweat started to cover Taras' forehead.

Atana was trembling, clinging to his arm.

On the sidelines, almost into the background, the Princess was watching in anguish what was happening, her dazed and trembling eyes running continuously from the Nameless One to Taras and Atana and from them to him.

All around, all the others did not even know what to think anymore. They had been witnesses over and over again of what their Lord was capable of doing.

Taras...

Taras was really in trouble!

But he was Taras. And Taras he had to be. Flaunting with no little effort all the pride that had always characterized him, he managed to speak in a firm voice. He even managed to show himself almost as sarcastic as his dark lord.

"My Lord, I am convinced that a mind like yours is capable of making my wishes match your will. Who might ever doubt this?"

Atana felt dying, but her master had hit the mark. He knew more than anyone else the Nameless One.

This one laughed. And it was a genuine laugh. It made your skin crawl, but it was sincere.

"Ah, my dear Taras! I can't give up yon our services! Really I can't!"

But right after, his voice lowered. It seemed to resonate from a dark antrum.

"But my mind, my brave friend, has no solutions. You can not have your cake and eat it. You will renounce Atana. Full stop."

"My Lord…"

The voice of the Nameless One vibrated with anger.

"Do not take advantage of my benevolence, Taras! I'll save you life, when I should not have thought twice of taking it off from you. Do not get past the sign!"

"No, my Lord. But..." And Taras dared what couldn't be dared. "I will not renounce Atana, my Lord."

Atana was clinging to her master's arm as ivy does, unable to figure out whether she should feel happier and prouder or more terrified.

The raging blaze of the Nameless One's eye loomed over her and Taras.

"What do you want, Taras?"

His voice sounded like scratching your soul with pure fear.

"Do you want me to give you as a gift also the Princess? To fulfil my will, at least partly, and at the same time to meet your wishes? Do you want her too enchained to your saddle?"

"The… the Princess... chained to my saddle?"

"Why not? Sure, I wish the Princess to disappear from my sight, because ..."

The voice failed the Nameless One. Of course, no one could by now have any doubts about the fact that the Princess had breached that heart that no one would have supposed it could exist, but it was certainly impossible for him to say in clear letters that he did no longer want her among them because he did not want to yet come across the woman to whom he renounced for her own salvation. Because he wanted to preserve her pure innocence even from himself. It would have been too painful for him. Too painful also for the demon in the form of a human beast that he was. This, however, did not mean that he could ignore this feeling, but even less that he could be willing to show openly it. He was Nameless One! He was death!

But he was not stupid at all. And he knew that denying evidence was not only stupid, but also deleterious.

So then he recovered promptly and, with quiet sincerity, he passed beyond what he had not said but that everyone had understood.

"All in all, you are the man who first sided with me, at my side, and, until now, you've never disappointed me. You deserve something more than the others, even only ..." The Nameless One grinned sardonically. "...even only for the stupid, yet decidedly indomitable, courage that you have shown now."

And here, at this point, the Nameless One was no longer able to dissemble.

"Obviously you deserve it as long as you will touch the Princess not even with the tip of your fingers. Not even with your thinking."

Then he recovered one more time. His voice resumed its vitriolic tone.

"And as long as you are able to keep her under control. Thing which ..." The Nameless One laughed openly. "... which, it seems to me, is definitely very far from being easy."

The Nameless One's voice hardened abruptly.

"You will be responsible for all her actions, for all her possible subversive thoughts. And you will pay very hard, if you won't be able to keep her in check."

Taras remained speechless for a long while. Things were taking a really strange turn. And... damn dangerous. As much as Atana's joyful muffled cry testified her surprised delight, he understood very well that he was driven into a blind alley and potentially deadly.

"My Lord, I'm honoured, but..."

"Oh, for my beautiful face's sake! What's wrong with you, Taras? Do not you like the idea of being the master of the Princess Alel?"

"He does not like such an idea because my master is not him."

The Princess.

Hers, were these words.

Loud.

Strong.

Clear.

"Not to his saddle, I must be chained."

* * *

"Oh, my gosh! And now what?"

"Read, Adun. Read."

* * *

Gorgeous and alluring and provocative, even in the formless cloak she was wrapped in, the delicate features of her perfect visage glittering of proud beauty, the Princess advanced toward the Nameless One, who was looking at her with a confused frown, among the bated silence of everyone.

"If I remember correctly, before you have made me yours" And there was no coyness or shyness or hesitation or embarrassment in those words. "we have agreed that you were my Lord and Master, o my Lord and Master. And Taras has spoken of you to me by calling you exactly this way. He has called you _'Lord and Master'_. _My_ Lord and Master."

The Princess stepped forward yet.

Now she was standing in front of the Nameless One.

Petite before him.

And yet big in her beauty and fierceness.

The cloak opened slightly.

The Princess's hand peeped out, holding the free end of her chain.

"Take this chain. It is to your saddle that it must be fastened. I belong to you."

The air itself was motionless, to listen.

"You're not the Prince I was looking for, but I can not nor do I want to disown my destiny. It's not true that you took my body and not my heart. You've taken everything of me. And I accept my destiny. I accept it... body and soul."

Could it be that even the sun had halted in its perennial journey? To listen, it too?

"And my destiny is to love you. Beast or man or whoever or whatever you are. Good or evil you are. And if, to love you, I have to accept your law, I accept it. I am your slave-girl. And I want to be it."

Yes. Even the sun had stopped. And the wind. And the clouds. And the fronds of the trees. And the water of the brooks lost among the green of the forest. Everything.

"I am no longer and ever again I will be the Wandering Princess, the proud elven princess who was able to defy her own fate. I have met my fate. I have met you."

Everything. Even the distant mountains seemed even more motionless than how the mountains are always.

"And to my fate I bow and bend my head. To it I kneel. The nightmare that persecuted me in my childhood and then in my teenage years has turned - paradoxically, incredibly - into my dream of love. Will I suffer? Will I weep? Will I laugh? I do not know. My life lies in your hands. But I can not nor I want to give up on that little or on that much I'll have from you. I can not give up on you."

Everything.

"Take this chain, I tell you. Fix it to the pommel of your saddle. I will follow you, chained to it. And never again I will oppose you. You must not be worried about breaking off my will. From now on my will be your will. I will be what you want me to be. Word of the Princess Alel."

 **Everything!**

"And do not be afraid of having to protect me again - of having to cover me again - with your cloak. The mantle is not necessary. Show to the world what belongs to you. Proud to say to the world that it is yours."

And the mantle opened completely and slid to the ground, around the Princess' feet.

And she stood naked and beautiful one more time - more beautiful than ever - with the chain in her hand, on offer to the Nameless One, for him to take it and fasten it to his saddle.

"You told me that I would have been the means by which you would have avenged yourself for what the Elves have done to you. I do not know what you meant, but, for sure, the pleasure to have me - dragged naked chained to your saddle, - exposed to the sight of all… this can really be a sweet revenge for you. The most agreeable of revenges. Do you want this? You have it. And you have a Princess - a slave-girl - who will tell the whole world that she is happy to be dragged naked chained to your saddle just to be able to love you. You have won, my Lord and Master, you have won over the whole line. Over Nature, over Humans, over Elves. And over me."

* * *

Trip broke off. And how could it ever be possible not to do so?

"But ... but ... but it is not possible! It's... it's unworthy! Unworthy, yes!"

T'Pol stood quiet. She knew well what her Adun meant; what made him indignant.

"The Princess can not humiliate herself like that! She must not!"

T'Pol stood silent yet.

"One… one can not lower himself like this! There can be no love which deserves so much!"

And, at that point, T'Pol spoke.

She raised her head and looked straight into her Ashayam's eyes.

"I... I do not know, Trip."

"What!? But you're joking, T'Pol! Never... never you would have demeaned yourself in this way! I was Wrong! You... you're not the Princess after all! "

T'Pol looked at Trip with pensive eyes

"I _**am**_ the Princess, Trip. Now more than ever, I understand that it is just so."

"What? What? What! But you ..."

"That's the world she lives in, Adun. Her world, not mine, not ours. But if I would be part of that world... if her world was mine... yours..."

"T'Pol! But what are you saying?"

"Perhaps she is simply wiser than I am. I have strongly countered fate, the fate that Vulcans deny that it exists and that instead exists. And how! I know, I know it well, because I have strenuously and obdurately fought _**my**_ fate, the fate to belong to you. The Princess does not do. Once she realizes that her destiny is to belong to the Nameless One, she accepts in toto this destiny. And, as it's logical it is, she does according to the wild and primitive rules and laws of the world in which she lives. Her own world."

An inner sudden smile blossomed in Trip's mind, even at that moment, in hearing that _'as it's logical it is_ '. His T'Pol never belied herself! At no juncture! But it was just a matter of a quick, fleeting instant. Much more attention - and much more different - had to be paid to T'Pol's other words.

"But she does, Adun. She does it and to her it's enough just the short time span of one night to make her decision. And, the next morning, she desists rapidly and promptly from deceiving herself, as instead I did with myself, besides with you, the morning after… our night."

T'Pol's eyes lowered.

"I would have... I would have wanted to be as wise as the Princess is, Adun."

Her eyes rose again to look at Trip, a veil of regret and remorse within them.

"I would have spared you and me all the pains I have unnecessarily provoked to you and me."

With frowning eyes, Trip stood silently to watch T'Pol.

Then his gaze cleared. He nodded.

"I think it's better to keep going, isn't it, T'Pol?"

"Better, yes, Ashayam."

T'Pol crouched back on Trip.

Trip started to read again.

* * *

The Princess' words did spread through the air. They permeated it.

They permeated the minds and hearts of all.

The world was motionless.

On hold.

Of what the Nameless One would do.

It was impossible to decipher what was passing over that monstrous face, into that frowning eye.

But one thing was certain. It was a myriad of conflicting feelings, all of them cloaked with surprise and disbelief.

It was not the stone visage of the Nameless One.

Then, suddenly, the stone face became stone again.

Even more stone than it normally was.

And the blue eye glowed with a gelid flame.

"And so be it."

Oh how rough and tough that voice was! The voice of the Nameless One!

With a quick and rough gesture he grabbed the chain that the Princess offered him. He looked at her for a moment, then turned, with the extremity of the chain in his hand, and, dragging brutally the Princess behind himself, he reached with striding paces the big steed he had dismounted and - ostentatiously; you could say with rage - inserted with force the last ring of the chain around the pommel of his saddle.

He turned to the Princess, with that face of beast and stone.

She watched her at length.

She watched the expression of pain printed on her face; looked at her hands, which tried to slip under her iron collar in an effort to relieve the pain that her being dragged in that way had caused her; he watched the fiery pride with which she attempted to fight and to conceal her pain.

The monstrous face showed nothing. It remained stone.

And with that stone face, the Nameless One moved, leaving the Princess behind him, chained to the saddle of his steed. Panting and sore.

And yet proud.

He reached his cloak, lying on the ground. He leaned over. He took it. He straightened. He draped his cloak around himself. He lowered his big hat again on his face.

He turned again, without deigning the Princess of one glimpse.

His voice barked.

"Taras, half an hour. No more. Within half an hour the encampment will have to be completely disassembled and every trace of it will have to be disappeared. I will go ahead together with the Princess..." He grinned, malignantly. "...with my _volitional_ slave-girl. Load everything on the wagons and follow us along the narrow road that starts from here and cuts the forest northwards, exactly opposite to the larger one that brought us here, in the glade at whose margins there's the manor where we found her. I and she will tread that road."

An imperious look at Taras.

"I expect my orders to be executed to the letter, Taras. Indeed ..."

A pause. And another look. Long. Longer than the previous one. A look that went beyond the words; that seemed to say much more than the words.

"Indeed I expect even more."

The Nameless One did not wait for any response.

He turned to the Princess.

He smiled, sardonically.

"Ready, my Lady?"

The Princess looked at the face of that being who had conquered her and to whom she had given herself.

That being, in whose hands she had placed her life and her destiny.

She... she smiled!

Sadly. Yet gently.

She whispered.

"I am ready, my Lord and Master."

The Nameless One smiled again with that smile of bad beast. And laughed softly.

"So let's go, my Lady."

He turned towards his steed. He reached it. He mounted on it. He settled for good on the saddle.

He turned his head towards the Princess, standing on the grass, naked and splendid, her trepidatious, gorgeous face toward him.

Then he looked ahead of him.

His feet jumped against the hips of his big steed.

The steed snapped forward.

It started to move.

With fast pace.

* * *

"No, no, no, no! This is not a man with the face and instinct of a beast! This is a veritable beast!"

T'Pol jumped up abruptly to sit on Trip's lap.

"Trip! Adun!"

"Neither Trip nor Adun! I refuse to read over!"

"But, T'hai'la!"

"You can call me all the ways you want, my sweetness, but I'm not going over!"

"Ashayam ..."

"And I can not really understand how it has still been possible for you to indulge in reading, when you came to this point!"

"Ashal-veh..."

"Okay, I understand how the way you came into possession of this... of this horrible tale may have pushed you to go further."

"Yes, my K'diwa, of course, but also ..."

"I understand, I'm aware that at some point the Nameless One will change, that the Princess's love will manage to make stir again a little bit of soul inside him."

"Exactly. And in fact, my belov..."

"But at what price, T'Pol? I mean, what horrid price does the Princess have to pay, for this to happen?"

"Actually she does not..."

"No! Enough! I refuse! I do not even want to know how the two of us have become part of the fabric of the story! I do not want to know why you were so upset by the fairy tale! I do not want to know anything anymore! Nothing else! Nothing more! I stop here! I do not..."

"Husband!"

Trip ceased his animated lamentations, finally, at T'Pol's harsh call.

With surprised and perplexed eyes he stared at his angry face. Unequivocally angry.

"T ... T'Pol?"

T'Pol sighed. Her features softened.

"Trip, my Adun, I too almost had to stop at this point when I read the fairy tale for the first time. But something ... and not just the way I came into possession of this story... pushed me to continue. And I did well."

"But... but T'Pol!"

"And now, after what you have brought me to understand, I realize that I did more than well. And... I realize too what that something was. A... a premonition. Yes. Very little vulcan, I admit. But, indeed, it was so. I realized I had to continue. And - I repeat it strong and clear - I did well."

Trip stood watching T'Pol with confused eyes.

"But, T'Pol! The Princess… that Beast… he… she…!"

T'Pol's hand moved, light, forward to caress Trip's face.

"Do you remember, Ashayam, when I told you that we were about to get to a crucial moment?

"Yes, of course, T'Pol. I remember. But…"

"That moment has come. And ..." A sweet, unmistakable smile illuminated T'Pol's face. "... and I want to be myself to read to you and to me, to us both together, such a moment."

Trip narrowed his eyes a little. Curiosity now shone patently through them.

He nodded.

"All right, T'Pol, okay. To you the PADD."

T'Pol did not stop smiling as she took the PADD from Trip's hands.

She crouched back comfortably on him while he went back to cover both of them with the blanket.

She placed the PADD in her own hands so that she could read it without failing to her satisfactory position.

It was strange, her voice, when she began to read.

It had happened other times to Trip to hear that tone in her, in her voice.

But as dreamy as it was ringing at that moment... well, he was by no means certain that he had already heard it.

* * *

One minute, two minutes ... ten minutes ... twenty minutes ... half an hour ... one hour ... more...

The Princess missed every notion of time.

The horse wasn't galloping, but wasn't proceeding at all slowly.

And she had to run behind it.

If she had fallen... if she had fallen, she would have been dragged against the ground by the chain. She would have been dragged, battered against the crags sticking out of the ground. And she should have managed to cling to the chain with her hands, to avoid being dragged by her neck. But she would have failed to keep her hands clinging to the chain a long time. The collar would have ended up strangling her!

Unless the horse would stop its run.

But would it have done it?

Oh yes! Sure! **Yes!** It would have done it! Her Master could not be willing to give up so soon on her! To forgo exhibiting her as his prey!

He could not!

No! He could not!

But... if he had done it? If his stone heart had returned to be stone, like his face?

She... she did not have to fall!

She did not have to give up!

Did not have to surrender!

* * *

"T'Pol! Please!"

T'Pol ignored the heartfelt plea of Trip.

* * *

Her heart pounded in her chest.

Her legs ached.

She was sweating.

The collar tortured her.

Her breath was getting shorter more and more.

She struggled in desperate search of air.

Her sight clouded over.

She did not understand anything anymore.

She was not even longer conscious of where she was, of what she was doing, of what was happening to her.

Then... all a sudden... she realized.

She noticed.

The collar was no longer choking her.

She was no longer dragged.

Was running no more.

She was still.

She managed to open her eyes clouded with tears and sweat.

She succeeded, with great effort, in seeing.

The horse was motionless

It had stopped its fast proceeding.

Its black knight was motionless on it, with his bestial face turned to her, standing, she too motionless in turn, on her unsteady legs.

And, brusquely, these ones buckled.

And, brusquely, she collapsed to the ground.

Desperately trying to breathe.

With closed eyes.

Her mouth open in search of air.

Her lips, her throat, parched.

On the sudden something came to appease that burning thirst.

Water!

Fresh water!

Without thinking, she drank. Eagerly.

The thirstiness subsided.

Her breath came back slowly in her lungs.

Panting, she opened her eyes painfully.

The Nameless One.

Her Master.

Kneeling beside her.

His gaze... his gaze ... how was that gaze? Worried? Could ... could it be?... on her.

His left arm around her shoulders, behind her back, under her nape, to support her torso and her head.

His right hand holding a small leather flask.

The water that had quenched the burning dryness of her throat was the water of that flask.

Strenuously, with stubborn determination, the Princess sat up.

She looked tiredly at the Nameless One, who, now squatted, was staying with his left hand resting on his thigh, watching her, with the small leather flask still in his other hand.

He did not sneer, as he spoke. His voice was not harsh. It was... how was that voice? _Caring? Could it be?_

"You better, Princess?"

Laboriously, she nodded. She managed to speak.

"Yes, my Lord."

Slowly, he straightened in all his imposing height, as he made the flask disappear under his cloak.

His sardonic voice let itself be heard again.

"Good. I would have been slightly displeased to have to give up so soon on my slave-girl."

The Princess raised her face to him.

It took her a bit of effort, but she managed not to gasp. At least not too much.

"If… if it is possible, my Lord, I would ask…I would ask you to proceed more slowly, in your dragging me enchained to your steed. It wouldn't be... it wouldn't be of any use for your vengeance a dead slave-girl."

The Nameless One laughed strongly.

"Ah, nothing to say! A slave-girl like you, I do not find ever again!"

His eye looked laughing at the Princess' face, on which the last remnants of the purple colour that had spread on it were disappearing.

"I'll try to be more careful, my Lady. Even if I have to admit that the vision of your reddened visage possesses a pleasurable odd charm."

Then his gaze hardened.

"But I can not promise anything. I'm the Nameless One. "

But just as it had suddenly hardened, equally suddenly his eye softened.

He assumed a tone that the Princess wasn't capable of grasping.

"However, just in reason of the one I am, I can afford to muddle up the cards. I can even afford to be magnanimous."

His eye looked at her intensely.

"I offer you again what you have refused, Princess. Choose a destiny other than the destiny you chose. Go among those Humans. You will be safe. And you will see me never again."

"But I want to see you, my Lord."

Vacillating was the Princess's voice. But firm her tone.

With strenuous pride, she stood up, propping on her elbows and hands.

Her sore face turned upward, toward the stone face of the Nameless One, who towered over her from the height of his stature.

"I do not shrink back from my decision, my Lord. My destiny is you, and if I must die, be it by the hand of the fate that is my fate. Be it by your hand."

The Nameless One did not say anything. He stood watching the Princess with that stone face.

Then, abruptly, he laughed out loud. "Oh well, I've tried!"

The Princess looked at the Nameless One wide-eyed, without comprehending.

The Nameless One smiled. A true, broad smile! A smile that was almost impossible to understand how it could be born on that monstrous face.

"But, evidently, mine was a futile attempt, Princess."

He laughed again. And anything but malignantly.

"You're really the great Princess that you are, Princess. I've seen you fight; I know your great feats, your admirable deeds. But it is not this, not just that. The fact is that nothing can bend you. Nothing can do it."

And again he laughed, cheerfully.

"I just do not think I have to worry that I can break off your will. But not because your will is mine, as you said. Simply because it is impossible to break off your will."

His eye glittered. An unbelievably soft sparkle.

"Not even by acting so that you could touch with your hand how much I can be cruel, I managed to make you desist from being with me."

The Princess widened her eyes even further.

Something... sort of a gleam... lighted up inside her. A sweet, warm, soft gleam...

 _Possible... possible that...?_

"You are really tremendously - _wonderfully_ \- stubborn, Princess."

He laughed, the Nameless One! Merrily! He was smiling! Gaily!

"It comes to me to think, my terribly pig-headed Princess, that your stubbornness is such that it will last over time, even beyond the borders of our lives. I do not have much difficulty to believe that, in the future, there may be a woman as beautiful and strong as you are, in whom your stubbornness will continue to live."

* * *

T'Pol's gaze ran for a moment at Trip's face.

It was just an instant, but enough to grasp the mischievous and amused look of him.

She ignored it, continuing to read.

What the hell! It was absolutely needed not to stop reading in such a crucial moment!

* * *

"Show yourself!"

The voice of the Nameless One burst out sharp and sudden in his command, making startle the Princess, without her being able to understand to whom the Nameless One was addressing.

Among the trees a figure appeared.

Taras!

He advanced towards the Nameless One.

He stopped two feet away from him.

He bowed his head respectfully, then lifted it up and looked quietly at his Lord.

"My Lord?"

A sly and smug grin appeared on the leonine face.

"Very well, I see that all in all I did well to save your life, Taras. You are still able to go beyond my simple verbal commands.

"I'm pleased, my Lord."

The face of the Nameless One turned to be severe and grim.

"Keep it up, then. Listen to me attentively."

"Yes, my Lord."

"We'll camp at the foot of the High Mountain, where it stands, towering, from the forest. In the Dark Gorge. A place deserted and impervious, where no one ever hangs out at. You and all others will precede me and the Princess, without making you be noticed by anyone and leaving behind, to follow us two from afar – but not too much - and well-concealed, a sizeable handful of warriors, useful in case of unexpected attacks."

"Yes, my Lord."

"With regard to the encampment that you have arranged for it being disassembled - I have no doubt, should I? - while the Princess and I were doing..." Again a quick sardonic grin appeared on the face of the Nameless One. "...our pleasant walk, let the chariots where they are. Indeed, destroy them. Burn them. I do not want traces whatsoever. No one must suspect our presence in these places."

"Yes, my Lord."

"And I do not want anyone to follow this road. Only I and the Princess will travel on it. Everyone will walk among the trees, including horses. The forest is dense, but not too much hereabout, because it is going to give way to the massif of the High Mountain. It will not be too difficult to make our not many horses advance through the trees. Women will travel on the horses. Men will walk."

"Yes, my Lord."

"Materials, furnishings, supplies and anything else will be carried by hand and on horseback, together with women. All of it. Including my stuff."

"Yes, my Lord."

"Without forgetting my tent, of course. It too, disassembled into its components, has to be toted as it was done not a few times in the past."

"Yes, my Lord."

"There won't be much to toil, anyway. The trip, in fact, is not to long and in reality you, except for the warriors who will follow me and the Princess a little from afar and hidden, will arrive very long before me and the Princess, who, instead, intend to arrive late. At sunset. Because…" The Nameless One's eye made a rapid flick toward the Princess. "…I will proceed very, very slowly."

And he winked cunningly and slyly at her, who stood firm and astounded at his look and his words and who was no longer understanding anything of what was going on, including the fact that Taras, instead, did not seem at all surprised; indeed, he seemed completely at ease in what was happening. As if... as if he knew it! Or... or as if he had expected it! His way of responding to his Lord's orders was so calm! So peaceful!

"Yes, my Lord."

"Upon the arrival, mine and of the Princess, at that place, I want to find my tent completely assembled, fitted to welcome me. And my Lady."

And the Nameless One accentuated strongly those words. _My Lady_.

And the Princess winced.

"And I want there to be food and wine in the tent and all that's needed for her to recover from the fatigue of the journey."

The Princess's wide open eyes watched confused the stern face and... and yet plainly laughing!... of the Nameless One.

"And I want there to be in the tent sumptuous dresses, worthy of her rank. Worthy of whom she's... for me."

The Princess jumped. Literally.

"But, even, extremely skimpy. Provocative. Sensual. Revealing. She is always beautiful, but I like that her beauty may stand out in all its splendour. Especially considering it is a beauty that belongs to me."

The Nameless One's winking eye turned towards the Princess.

"Do I say well, my Lady?"

The Princess didn't manage to do anything but nod, her mind prey to dizziness.

Then the Nameless One's eye turned back to Taras.

"I think your slave-girl, Atana, may be useful to choose the clothes for the Princess. Beyond that... peculiar skirt, the one I've wanted for me among my treasures and that the Princess has worn..." Some sort of a merry and amused tone transpired in the Nameless One's voice. "... for such a short time, there is plenty of such dresses among the lot of women's garments that my men looted for their slave-girls during our assaults. Indeed, even more. I think it is useful for Atana to be in the tent with the Princess, when, after our arrival, I'll leave her there to inspect the camp and discuss with you our next moves and before I go back to her, so that she can take care of her. After all, Atana has always been the Princess' maid. "

Taras' face was impassive. But not his gaze.

It shone.

"Yes, my Lord."

While the wonder was getting more and more manifested on the Princess's visage.

"Mh, indeed... to well think about it ... just one maid is really small thing for the Princess. Let's not forget who she is. She's the Princess Alel, goddam! And as if this in itself were not yet enough, she is also my woman."

Woman? _His_ woman? Had her Master the Nameless One said just so? Woman? His... _his woman!_?

Something... like a light flight of butterflies... started to stir in the Princess' chest.

"Those two slave-girls... that elven maiden and that human maiden who have been so happy to follow her wishes... you know who I mean, Taras."

"Yes, my Lord, I know."

"Well, arrange for them being at the service of the Princess, them too besides Atana. I believe they are decidedly suitable and can carry out their job very well."

"Yes, my Lord."

"Good. I think I said it all."

The single, blue eye stared ad Taras sternly.

"All clear, Taras?"

"Yes, my Lord."

"Then, go."

Quick and silent, Taras disappeared among the trees lining the rather narrow road along which the Princess had been dragged and where, now, they were standing still and alone.

The Princess.

The Nameless One.

And his steed.

Along with the chain tying the naked princess to the pommel of its saddle.

* * *

"Sure. The chain!"

"T'hai'la?"

Trip sighed.

"T'Pol, I'm delighted ... Finally! FINALLY! The Nameless seems to have taken the right direction! But... the chain? THE CHAIN?"

Again on T'Pol's face a smile fluttered. Evident. And mischievous.

"Ah, yes. The chain."

"T'Pol!"

"Let's see a little bit, Ashayam, let's see a little."

"Oh damn it, T'Pol! You are ..."

"The one who would like to keep reading, if I am allowed, my Husband and Lord."

Trip bit his lips.

"Granted."

"Very well, my Husband and Lord."

* * *

The Princess's wide open eyes lingered for a few moments on the thick of the trees, where Taras had vanished as if he had never been there.

Then they turned to the Nameless One.

To her Master.

They scanned his face of human beast. The mischievous and yet oddly gentle smile that softened his leonine lips.

Was it true?

Was it really true?

Wasn't she deceiving herself?

Had her Lord and Master really said all that he had said?

Really her Lord and Master had...?

 _Her Lord and Master…_

Yeah. Her Lord and Master.

And, by their own will, her hands went up.

They went to the tangible symbol of her slavery. Of the slavery she had accepted.

They went to the iron collar that encircled her neck.

To the chain that tied that collar to the saddle of the steed of her Lord and Master.

And he… _he_ … her Lord and Master, the one she had publicly accepted that he were such for her, the one to whom she had given her body and her heart and her will… he smiled openly.

And laughed softly.

And, without saying a word, acted.

He turned. In one step he was at his horse.

He had his back turned to the Princess. She could not see what he was doing. She could only understand that he was fumbling on his steed.

Then he turned to her.

He was not smiling anymore.

Not with his lips.

But his eye was still doing.

He shook his right hand, that one made of flesh.

The Princess looked at that hand, at what it was holding.

The extremity of the chain; the one he had previously secured to the saddle.

With that in his hand, he approached the Princess and stopped right in front of her.

He stood for a moment, his smiling eye fixed on her face.

That face so beautiful and so trepidatious.

That marvellous visage that was turned towards his, gleaming with expectancy filled with incredulous hope.

The smile disappeared from the eye.

It was replaced by something else.

What it was?

The Princess could not figure out what it was.

It was something... something, however, that made her heart beat wildly.

And such was the keenness of her expectancy and her attention that only when the iron hand of the Nameless One grabbed her collar she realized that he was doing it.

A moment, a very short time. And the collar broke. Under the mighty grip of the steel hand of the Nameless One.

It broke into two fragments that his big and strong hand divaricated easily, by simply widening its fingers.

And so the chain fell down.

And the Princess's neck was free.

And no pain - not even the slightest - she felt.

The Nameless One bowed slightly, so that his left hand, the one that had broken the collar, could pick up the extremity of the chain that had fallen down with the fragments of the collar.

He straightened up. In the right hand, the end of the chain that had been fixed to the saddle. In the left hand, the end of the chain that had been fastened to the collar, still with the fragments of this attached to it.

His eye now looked intensely at the Princess, who, even more intensely, reciprocated his gaze.

His hands moved. Quickly and with dexterity. The whole chain got accumulated in his right hand.

This one snapped.

Quick and powerful.

The chain flew away.

Very very far away.

Lost. Among the trees.

And there, where it was, where the Nameless One had launched it with his herculean strength, never again it would have been possible to find it.

It was really lost.

Forever.

* * *

"Ahhh..."

T'Pol could not help but smile at that long sigh of relief on Trip's part.

But, after all, wanting to be honest... was not it the same long sigh of relief she had emitted when she had read the fable alone?

* * *

The Princess pointed her gaze through the trees, as if wanting to truly realize that her chain was gone away among them.

Then her green eyes - even more beautiful in her unbelieving joy - returned to the face of Nameless One.

To his eye. Charming and smiling.

Again, the Nameless One did not say anything.

Again - simply - he acted.

A series of rapid actions in sequence.

He turned around. He returned to his steed. He pulled something out of the saddlebag hanging on its side.

A blanket.

He carefully settled it on the saddle, making it a kind of soft cushion.

He turned again. Towards the Princess.

He reached her.

He watched her.

He grabbed her by her waist.

With force.

Yet with delicacy.

He lifted her up.

Aloft.

Her hands leaned on his shoulders with unconscious - manifest - confidence.

Their looks were fixed in one another.

The Nameless One turned, holding the Princess in that way. His gaze still locked on hers.

He went back to his horse, with the Princess still lifted up by her waist by his mighty hands. Still with their eyes locked in each others.

He stopped beside his steed.

Slowly, gently, delicately, carefully, he deposited the Princess astraddle on the saddle.

On the soft pillow he had made so that the blanket was.

For a moment they remained so.

He, standing beside the horse, with his hands still on the Princess's waist.

She, astride the horse and bent towards him, with her hands still on his shoulders.

Their eyes still lost in each other.

Then, almost with difficulty, the Nameless One left the Princess's waist.

His hands went to her hands.

They gently pulled them away from his shoulders.

She straightened on the saddle, while her eyes abandoned the Nameless One's face, staring forward to look at something she would never have imagined it was possible for her to see. And that now she saw. For real. With the mind and the heart.

And which was something real.

Almost unconsciously her hands went to the mighty neck of the steed.

They rested down gently on it.

The horse seemed like being trembling with pleasure.

The Nameless One moved.

A quick, strong, powerful movement.

The Princess sensed it, perceived it. Even more than how she could realize it was happening.

A leap.

Agile and mighty.

And he was astride the saddle.

Behind her.

Glued to her.

Even from under the cloak that enveloped him, she could feel his powerful body against her back, against her naked body.

And she could smell his acrid and intoxicating scent.

* * *

T'Pol's eyes quickly darted toward Trip. It was only a moment. But it said everything.

* * *

And feel his breath - strong, ferine, savagely bewitching - on her shoulders and on her neck.

And then...

Then his hand. Bare. Devoid of the glove that had covered it.

His hand. Which lifted her hair.

And his fingertips.

Delicate.

Gentle.

Which passed slight on her neck.

And finally...

His voice.

His voice again.

Low and sweet. Harsh and sweet. Hard and sweet.

"No sign will remain, Princess. The collar has not been around your neck for so long as my collar has been around mine."

The Princess said nothing. She did not dare. She did not even dare to breathe.

She was afraid to break off the dream.

But the dream went on.

And it was not a dream.

It was not a dream, his voice.

What he was saying.

 _It was not a dream!_

"I'm cruel, Princess. You've seen it. Even in my attempt to push you away from me just to keep you from suffering, I've been cruel. I do not know how to be different. I know, I know it well. But, maybe, you'll know how to change me. I... I would like it. Would you like to try to do it?"

Not with words, the Princess replied.

Far more effective was her answer.

Much more eloquent.

Her torso arched.

Her arms jerked upward.

They grabbed the mighty head of the Nameless One.

They intertwined behind his nape, among his mane.

They pulled down his head vehemently, almost violently.

They attracted it on her face, turned backwards and upwards.

They drew his leonine mouth on her voracious mouth.

And her ardent lips gave him her answer on his desirous lips.

* * *

T'Pol realized that she was sighing with delight along with Trip.

* * *

Long was the kiss. Deep. Passionate.

Then, finally, the Nameless One detached his mouth from that of the Princess.

She lowered her head and her arms and put these ones in her lap.

A few moments passed.

Then his voice again.

Mild and soft.

Almost as not sounding like his voice.

"Like I said, Princess, we will proceed very slowly. The journey is not long, but I want to enjoy it fully. I want to enjoy your body against mine."

And his arms held her tight from behind.

And she leaned back tightly against him with her back and enveloped herself in his arms.

"I have water and food with me, in the other saddlebag. We can take it easy."

And his arms clasped her.

And she sighed in his arms.

"We will stop, every now and then, if we wish. Or we will proceed, if we want to. And I'll keep you so. Held tight on to me."

And his embrace became stronger.

And more strongly she clutched herself in his hug.

"And you will suffer neither the heat of the sun nor the humidity of the forest, Princess. Once again I was wrong. Not for the last time my cloak showed its usefulness. Indeed now it is called to show it even more."

And his mantle fluttered. Once again it rose and fell.

"I could have made be brought to you clothes, Princess, but I am persuaded you do not mind being wrapped in and protected by my cloak."

And the mantle wrapped both of them in its protective hug.

A sigh, low and sweet, in the Princess's ear. The murmur of his voice.

"My mantle is big enough for both of us, as you see, Princess. And I dare to believe that you do not mind being naked beneath it, clung to me. Cradled by the quiet pace of our horse, while I hold you tight to me."

And then there was the silence.

The sweetest of silences.

The slight rustling of the leaves.

The quiet sounds of the forest, of its creatures.

The rhythmic and soft treading of the hooves of the horse that the Nameless One had gently pushed to go forward, just with a slight tug at the reins.

Nothing else.

 _Nothing else._

Except the sound of thoughts.

Those of the Nameless One.

Bizarre thoughts.

Unthinkable thoughts, for him, until that moment.

Thoughts of something very different from the truculence and the blood that had been his thoughts theretofore.

Thoughts of a woman's body, hot and longing, tight to his.

The body of his Princess.

Thoughts of a woman's heart that beat for him.

The heart of his Princess.

And the Princess' thoughts.

Thoughts about her life. About what it had been.

About what it would be.

And her life - her life up to that moment - flowed in a flash before her eyes.

In its entirety.

Her carefree childhood. Her happy girlhood.

The raw suffering of her youth.

And...

And now her new life.

 _Her new life!_

 _Her new... unknown... life!_

A life that she never would have imagined it could be expecting her!

Next to the one, along with the one who of her childhood, of her girlhood, and even of her hard and combative youth had been her unconscious nightmare. Almost... almost as if she knew it was waiting for her.

Although she did not know that that nightmare really existed.

Although she had not even been able to imagine the face of that nightmare.

Its face of human beast.

 _Her_ human beast.

Her man.

Her Prince.

Her…

Nightmare?

NIGHTMARE?

Oh no!

No no no!

It was not a nightmare! It was a dream!

A marvellous dream!

No. Not even this was true.

It was reality.

It was the reality of her new life.

The Princess wasn't moving.

Tight in the arms of her ...

 **Of her man!**

 **HER MAN!**

Tight in his arms. Naked. Tight to him. Under his mantle.

She wasn't moving.

Merely, she was breathing.

And was rejoicing.

Almost not daring to do so.

The road had narrowed even more.

The trees flanked it, thick, in that point

The light filtered with difficulty among them.

But, up there...

The Princess's eyes lifted.

Up there...

Above the tops of the trees...

Above...

There was light.

There was...

It couldn't be seen.

But it was there.

It shone.

The sun.

Invisible, concealed.

Like her new life.

But shining, anyway.

Warm.

Like her new life.

* * *

 ** _End of Chapter forty-two_**

 ** _TBC_**

 **oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo**

 **oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo**

 _Up there..._

 _Above the tops of the trees..._

 _The sun shines._

* * *

 **oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo**

 **oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo**

 **oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo**

 **oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo**

A little extra note for my dear readers.

Okay. Here we are.

The lives of the Princess and of the Nameless One have joined.

And there's a lot to say about what's going to happen. Much to discover.

As well as how the lives of our two dear Trip and T'Pol go to interweave with those of the Princess and of the Nameless One.

But, my friends, I ask you to have a little patience.

Someone called me.

And it's someone who can not be ignored.

Who would ever dare ignore Tucker's call? Tucker, exactly. Not Trip.

Tucker.

The one with the scarred face.

The one whose true name is Cain.

He demands me to proceed with unravelling "The Empire's Destiny".

And he is not a dude you could think to put easily aside.

You know, I care of my skin.


End file.
